Slytherin Chronicles : The Desire of Darkness
by SlytherinPsyche
Summary: PSSS story from a Slytherin's perspective. Dark mysteries are unearthed, heroes are discovered where they shouldn't exist, desires are made obvious, and the veil of darkness has not been destroyed ...
1. Accepted

**Disclaimer:** I own all the characters you have never ever EVER heard of (e.g. Neve Coulden, The Coulden family, etc), as well as other things you may not have heard of, such as certain towns and spells (e.g. Carthim, etc). But of course, I leave all credit for the making of everyone and everything you have heard of (e.g. Harry Potter, Hogwarts, etc) to the marvellous and spectacular J.K.Rowling, who we all love and adore. I also have to mention that I had to include some things in this story that are in the Harry Potter books (e.g. Hogwarts Acceptance Letter, etc), because it was quite inevitable, really. But I have stated it quite clearly, so you have no right to take me to court! 

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** A long time ago in a land far far away, I used to be a Gryffindor with Harry Potter as the love of my life and Hermione Granger as my best friend. "But then, something happened that the Ring did not intend." Oh dear! Wrong story! But anyway, something did happen that I did not expect. After I read J.L. Matthews' magnificent _Slytherin Rising_ series, I became a converted Slytherin and being the stalwart supporter that I am, I decided to write my own Slytherin series and promote the house of the snake. So here is the first chapter of Part One in which we are introduced to the Slytherin heroine of the series that will follow the _Harry Potter_ series, book by book.  


* * *

**CHAPTER ONE   
_Accepted_**

  
The Coulden family was always one of the most prominent wizarding families in Britain, although it was not one of the most admired. The reason behind this was the rumour that the Couldens (along with quite a few other pure-blood families) associated themselves with the Dark Arts, and, as the majority of the wizarding world in Britian did not much look up to the Dark Side, they were thought of with much antipathy by the non-Dark wizarding communities.   
  
And they were still looked upon as 'threats to the magical society' by quite a few wizarding families when Neve Coulden, the only child of Darius and Mortenvia Coulden, was born. Nor did the general public opinion of the family change when Neve was accepted as a pupil into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which both her parents had attended. 

It was on a pleasant sunny day, the fifth of July to be exact, when Neve was to receive her Hogwarts Acceptance Letter, and she awoke several hours earlier than she normally would have that day. This was due to the incessant shrieking of her enchanted alarm clock (whose digits smoothly changed colour with every passing minute) which she got from her mother for her tenth birthday the previous year. 

However, after the first few weeks she used the clock, she was wholeheartedly tired of the sickeningly childish personality it had been bewitched to have ("Wake-up, sleepy-head! Rub your eyes, get out of bed!"). So after several terrifying threats of smashing it with an axe, she finally managed to persuade the clock to abandon its infantile manner and take up a more crude way of speech when awakening her ("Wake-up, you evil sod!"). 

As Neve heard the first shrill tones of the clock screeching, she sat bolt upright in bed and, realising that it was the alarm clock which had awoken her from her slumbers, hit it hard with her fist. "If you keep screaming so loudly, I'm going to disembowel you and throw you out!" she managed to say over the squeals of pain from the clock.

This threat had always worked to silence the clock because it was mortally afraid of being disassembled and knew perfectly well that the currently eleven-year-old Neve was quite able of carrying it out by herself. 

But the clock seemed to have acquired a smidgeon of courage over the past few weeks because it hesitatingly squeaked out, "How am I supposed to wake you up, then? And anyway, your mother will be sure to find out if you do that to me, and you will most probably be supplied by another alarm clock that will not surrender to your threats at all!"  


Neve scowled at the clock, which was currently showing _6:33_ in a fluorescent blue colour, but knew she was beaten. She had had three alarm clocks so far, all of which lasted less than six months, and this one was definitely not the worst; in fact, it was possibly the best out of all the ones she'd had.  


She disentangled herself from the blankets, got out of bed, and began dressing. After giving her hair a hasty brush and pulling on a bottle-green unadorned robe over a plain grey skirt and white shirt, she opened her bedroom door and sauntered downstairs. 

The Couldens lived on a large estate in Wiltshire, quite a long way from the nearest Muggle town, Tidworth. Coulden Manor was a vast stately house, one of the oldest in the area, surrounded by luxuriant gardens and lush green lawns. Mrs Coulden had also established her own special part in the garden behind the house where she liked to experiment and rear her own magical flowers. She had a certain bond with them that none of the other members of the Coulden household ever managed to achieve, for the flowers were not at all like the ones that were seen in Muggle florist shops.  


Most of the flowers reminded Neve of their caretaker, for they were in essence nasty cunning things that often tried to bite and sting her whenever she happened to walk past and occasionally succeeded. Large Venomous Tentaculas, with their dark red spiky leaves, always tried to sneak their vines around Neve's neck; minuscule Toxic Trefoils stretched themselves as far as they could out of their beds to scratch at her stockinged legs; and Neve preferred to forget her experience with the shade-loving Devil's Snare, after it had nearly suffocated her when she chose to examine it more closely.  


Neve liked to stay in the house more than in the gardens because of the higher safety factor inside. Yet, after living in the Manor for nearly twelve years, she still did not know exactly how many rooms it had. She was only allowed to visit the ones that were open to all visitors - the kitchen, dining and drawing rooms, bedrooms and bathrooms - as well as the attic, which was only accessible to members of the Coulden family. Out of boredom, she walked the corridors of the Manor nearly everyday, but the sheer enormity of the amount of rooms that it contained had almost always made her give up. 

The first level of the Manor held the solitary kitchen and a few dining and drawing rooms, the thirty-five bedrooms and fifteen bathrooms were on the second, and the enormous attic was on the third. Every room in the Manor (that was used at least once a week) was elegantly furnished and kept in excellent condition for fear of unexpected guests who might have just wanted to drop in.   


But Neve was also sure that the Manor had quite a few secret passages, because she had been in many of them herself. Some were hidden by doors with unobtrusive tapestries and paintings hanging over them; others concealed behind wardrobes and dressing tables with tall mirrors. 

All in all, it was a very rich home to live in - something for kings and queens and other people of nobility - though with not as much glitter and sparkle as would be expected in a palace.   


The paintings and tapestries on the walls were constantly moving, as was usual in the wizarding world, and they showed various ancestors of Mr and Mrs Coulden; certain scenes from magical history; and all sorts of magical creatures such as vampires, banshees and the like, who all leered down at Neve unpleasantly whenever she had decided to stroll past them.   


At times, when she was unendurably bored, she would walk through the corridors of the Manor and stop to have conversations with some of the occupants of the paintings - all of which ended up in a battle of insults and sharpened Neve's tongue. 

Coulden Manor was also host to a relatively small amount of dungeons. And yet, while all of these were seemingly empty, Neve was still not permitted to go anywhere near them for reasons that Mr Coulden had unfortunately not divulged. He pointed out that they were strictly out of limits to all but himself and the selected few who were his friends. Neve knew that a very severe punishment would be in store for her if she ever decided to wander into the dark, gloomy caverns beneath the Manor, and if Mr Coulden found out about it. 

Still, she could not help contemplating the matter. And, when she tried to investigate the entrance to the dungeons more closely, she noticed there were two paintings of very sulky and grim-looking banshees to alert Mr Coulden of the approach of intruders. Mr Coulden had also mentioned that if the trespasser tried to unlock the door to the dungeons, a multitude of curses would be activated immediately and the interloper would be prevented from entering the dungeons one way or another. 

When Neve entered the spotless kitchen that day she immediately espied the family house-elf, Botty, polishing the kitchen table. His bat-like ears flapped slightly as he slid the cloth over the already shining surface, and as Neve drew near she heard him singing placidly to himself. Then he caught sight of her and, grinning widely, bowed so low that the tip of his long thin nose touched the lacquered parquet. 

"Morning is good, Miss. Botty is setting your breakfast in there, Miss," he chirped, pointing one pencil-like finger at the doorway to the dining room and continuing to polish. 

Neve nodded at the house-elf and questioned, "What were you singing, Botty?" 

The house-elf's grin expanded and his enormous blue eyes twinkled with amusement. He stopped polishing the table, stood in front of her and said, "Botty is singing a house-elf song that Botty's great-grandmother is knowing and is teaching to Botty's grandmother who is teaching it to Botty." 

"Well, could you sing it for me?" she asked. 

At this, Botty cleared his throat noisily and began to sing in his piercing voice:

  


"When dust is heavy, and dirt is inside,  
A house-elf must come out  
And put it all right.  
When garden is weedy, and flowers not growing,  
That's when it's time  
For the elf to be going.  
When inside and outside of home is all clean,  
You knows that's the mark  
Of a house-elf unseen.  
When owners is happy, and house-elf is too,  
The house-elf will never  
Have nothing to do." 

  
Botty then bowed very low again and resumed his polishing. Neve stood, staring at him in wonderment, when suddenly her father shouted, "Botty! Stop that ridiculous screeching!" 

Botty glanced at the dining-room door with apprehension and scrubbed the table with even more ferocity than before. 

"You can hum but very quietly," Neve whispered to the house-elf. "And I'd recommend that you polish something else before you wear that cloth out." 

Neve was the only person in her family, and perhaps even in any family connected with the Dark Arts, who treated house-elves fairly. She couldn't help it; she didn't believe that inhuman creatures were to be treated differently from humans just because they _were_ different.   


Botty was always friendly to Neve in return, telling her certain tid-bits that she would otherwise have not known, and saving her portions of the desserts she liked the most from the many lavish dinners that occurred at the Manor whenever distinguished witches and wizards came around. He was just about the only person who treated Neve with kindness at the Manor, and as much as she didn't like to admit it, Neve was grateful for it.  


Mrs Coulden was always very formal with Botty but she never said 'please' or 'thank you' to him. Mr Coulden ignored Botty most of the time and only talked to him if he wanted him to do something in particular or to reprimand him. Botty always knew when to give himself punishments; he could always tell by the tone of voice or merely a look.  


Neve left the house-elf and walked through the dining-room door emerging into a very large room with a shiny mahogany table and several chairs. Her parents were already sitting behind the table; Mrs Coulden drinking her tea, and Mr Coulden reading a newspaper, which Neve recognised to be the _Daily Prophet_. 

"Morning," she said, sitting down at the table and beginning to eat her breakfast (a stack of pancakes with maple syrup). 

Mrs Coulden nodded at Neve, simpering unpleasantly. "Good morning, _dear_," she said. 

But Mr Coulden didn't even look up from his newspaper. He seemed to have finished his breakfast a while ago because there was no plate in front of him. He was a tall and well-built man with bronzed skin, chestnut shoulder-length hair and black menacing eyes. Many people thought that he looked quite foreign and, to some extent, he was; the blue blood of Spanish lords ran in his veins - an appropriate addition to the English aristocracy apparent in his demeanour, which was handed down from his mother.

Mrs Coulden was tall and courtly, her dark auburn hair usually held in an elegant bun; she had icy blue eyes and a rosy complexion. Her own noble birth was as visible to the eye as the many glittering jewels she wore on her person, enhancing her inordinately beautiful features. 

Both Mr and Mrs Coulden had some sort of intimidating power in their appearances so strong that they could silence any protest with one mere glance - one of the extraordinarily few things they had in common with Neve. Albeit, this was more of an acquired trait than a hereditary one. 

In looks, Neve didn't resemble either of her parents at all and this seemed to cause them great displeasure. Few would have called her pretty - though perhaps haunting and unwholesome - because of her long black hair and pale, almost translucent, skin. However, the most unusual feature Neve had was certainly her eyes which swirled, like an moody ocean, with different shades of grey. 

Neve was quite small for her age, but nimble and quick-witted. She used to think that her eyes were ugly and dull, and once asked Mrs Coulden why she had not received a brighter colour. But Mrs Coulden did not get a chance to reply because Mr Coulden, who had accidentally overheard the conversation, answered for her. 

He declared that Neve had had a premature birth, and that she herself hadn't allowed her eyes to develop a colour, so shouldn't blame anyone for it but herself. Neve's eyes spat sparks. She very nearly lunged at Mr Coulden in rage when he added that she was a plain and unoriginal child with a bleak future, and therefore wouldn't need any beauty. 

Neve's mind returned to the present and she noticed that Mr Coulden was about to speak. Without so much as glancing at Neve, he slowly opened his mouth and, as if there was nothing more boring, lazily said, "There's a letter from Hogwarts for you. I believe you have been accepted." 

Neve instantly looked up at her father. He appeared quite apathetic about the matter, but Mrs Coulden trilled enthusiastically, "Oh yes, of course! I forgot about that. And we'll be going to Diagon Alley today to get your school things." 

Neve nodded silently and carried on eating her pancakes. There was now at least one bright spark in the near future. Diagon Alley was always teeming with witches and wizards doing their shopping or simply having a break in one of the many pubs and parlours, and it would be a lovely escape from the monotony of life at Coulden Manor. It was one of the many reasons why Neve loved going to Diagon Alley.   


The last time she had been there was when she was eight years old, and the crowded winding cobbled street produced a wondrous effect on her.  


Neve had also been in Knockturn Alley, which was completely devoted to the Dark Arts, with shops filled with grotesque and horrifying products that made her skin crawl. Mr Coulden insisted on taking her there the previous year and although she was mostly appalled at the contents of the shops, she was extremely fascinated with them.   


But she couldn't help liking Diagon Alley more than the cold dingy lane of Knockturn Alley. She didn't tell her father this for she knew he'd say that she was too soft and should embrace the Dark Arts more heartily.   


But when she returned home that time, Neve thought that she might be making too hasty a decision in disliking Knockturn Alley. She highly doubted that she'd be allowed to live and work with something other than the Dark Arts when she grew up, so it would be best if she got used to the horrors of it all sooner. And, after all, it wasn't so terrible; she had seen quite a few interesting things in the shop windows ... and she had even seen a couple of children strolling down the alleyway with their parents! 

Neve didn't know the exact reason why Mr Coulden had brought her to Knockturn Alley, but she didn't think it was because he wanted her to gain more knowledge of the world she belonged to. She knew he would never comfort her if she burst into tears of fright like one of the children in the Alley had been doing.   


Sometimes she couldn't help but think that her father didn't like her much; he never delighted in seeing her happy and never tried to console her when she was sad. Occasionally he had incredibly dark moments when she actually believed that he hated her. The reasons for this behaviour were wholly unknown to her. 

Sometimes when he looked at Neve, she thought she could see a definite glimmer of loathing in the dark depths of his eyes, or something near to it to be a strong enough emotion of something quite the opposite of love. She wanted to know why, but didn't dare ask - when he was angered, it was best to keep out of Mr Coulden's way. 

Mrs Coulden was usually good-tempered with Neve and rarely showed anger, although she could easily be annoyed with sarcasm and what she termed 'time-wasting' and 'stupid questions'. But when Neve was in a bad mood, her mother's attempts at being kind and sweet towards her were sickening.  


Whenever Neve was with either of her parents, many important-looking people greeted them cordially as they passed, mostly in Knockturn Alley. All of them gave Neve oddly keen looks, and she'd stare back at them defiantly. 

When she had entirely finished her breakfast and was rising from the table, Mr Coulden retrieved a creamy envelope from the chair beside him and threw it to her. "That's your Hogwarts letter. Make sure you don't forget to take your book list with you when you go to Diagon Alley." All this he did and said without tearing his eyes from the newspaper he was still reading. 

Without saying anything, Neve turned on her heel and left the dining room for her bedroom, clutching the thick Hogwarts envelope in her hand. And sure enough, when she opened it in her bedroom, she pulled out two pieces of parchment and read the first one: 

  


**HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) 

_Dear Miss Coulden,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31st July._

_Yours sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress_

  
When she finished reading the letter Neve placed it back inside the envelope, leaving the second piece of parchment on her knees, which she knew was the "list of all the necessary books and equipment". 

She didn't know whether she was pleased to be able to go to Hogwarts or not. Of course, a change of scenery would be welcome; she had grown sick of the same old four walls that she was loth to confine herself to. Nevertheless, she wasn't too excited about meeting new people; she widely preferred her own solitary company and avoided mixing with society as often as was possible. 

This unsociable tendency had sparked from the early years of her childhood which, for Neve, had not been particularly happy. She couldn't remember having any friends from other wizarding families and when she asked Mrs Coulden about why she never invited some playmates for Neve over for tea, the former simply glared at her and snapped that she should be able to amuse herself with other things.  


Ever since she could walk, talk, and more or less understand the rules of the world, Neve was taught to remember the biggest rule concerning children in the Coulden household: children should be seen and not heard and, if possible, _ neither_ seen _nor_ heard! Mr and Mrs Coulden were not very loving parents and avoided taking care of Neve as much as was possible. 

In fact, Neve could not even remember a single time when she had played with either of her parents when she was still a young infant. She had always been left to her own devices, trusted to amuse herself in the plain, almost ugly nursery that resembled a hospital clinic rather than the habitat of a child. Neve had not had any toys at all, due to her father's belief of them being unnecessary. 

So she was bought books - many many books that she had learned to read by herself before she was seven years old. At eight years of age, all the books in the Coulden library deemed acceptable for a child by Mr Coulden had been read by Neve at least three times each. Each tome was a different world, sometimes even a different universe - an escape route Neve loved to take when the dull uniformity of her life was becoming unbearable.

But this precocity was not praised or even acknowledged by her parents in the tiniest way.

On the darkest and loneliest nights Neve wondered why her parents had elected to have her at all. If they were not prepared to care for her and provide her with even a little bit of love, then what was the point of having a child? So that it could wither before their eyes? Neve suspected that Mr Coulden wouldn't have any scruples at all about hastening the process himself, if Neve showed any sign of detriment. That thought was dismissed quickly. 

And now, at eleven years of age, Neve still couldn't figure out the ugly mystery. And deep down inside the darkest corner of her mind, she knew that she didn't want to find out because whatever the reason for it was, it would be quite unpleasant, as all ugly mysteries are.  


As she sat on her bed, contemplating the matter, her mother's call drifted upto the second level from downstairs. "Neve, we're going now! Hurry down!" 

Neve grabbed the book list and ran downstairs to the drawing room where flames were already blazing in the huge fireplace to her left. "Are we going by Floo Powder?" she inquired of her mother. Floo Powder was a means of wizard travel that was a somewhat dirty and nauseous process, though nevertheless safe. 

"Well of course! How else do you expect to get there?" Mrs Coulden replied, taking a green velvet pouch from the ornately carved mantelpiece, and offering it to her. 

Taking it, Neve asked, "So where are we going, exactly?" 

"The Leaky Cauldron first. And then to Diagon Alley. Hurry up, child, I haven't got all day!" 

Neve took a pinch of the fluorescent green powder inside the pouch, stepped up to the fire and sprinkled it in. The flames instantly turned the same emerald green as the pouch in her hand, which she gave back to her mother. She then stepped unconcernedly into the flames and shouted clearly, "The Leaky Cauldron!" and instantly disappeared. Her whole body began spinning very fast and she soon became quite dizzy, so she closed her eyes.   


She continued to spin for a few seconds more, then suddenly she felt she was slowing down, so she thrust her hands forward and landed on them as she was hurled out of the fireplace of The Leaky Cauldron.

  



	2. Diagon Alley

**CHAPTER TWO  
_Diagon Alley_**

  
Before Neve could push herself off the ground, a pair of large, grimy hands smelling strongly of alcohol fastened themselves over her arms and helped her back on her feet. She looked up and saw the round, good-natured face of Tom, the barman and inn-keeper of The Leaky Cauldron. "Alright there, miss?" he asked, grinning toothlessly. 

"Fine. Just a little dirty," Neve replied, trying to dust off the layer of soot that had settled on her robes. 

Tom nodded and asked, "Would you be wanting anything to drink, miss? We've a good selection of non-alcoholic drinks, and you can get yourself a nice luncheon for two Galleons, and also - " 

But he was interrupted there by Mrs Coulden's exclamation, "Neve, darling! Come along now, we're going!" 

Tom instantly whirled around with every appearance of delight to see Mrs Coulden. "Mortenvia Coulden - how lovely. Care for a cup of tea?" 

"No thank you, _Mr Ballantyne_. Perhaps some other time. I've got much to do today," she responded briskly, her eyes narrowing at Tom's suddenly vapid grin. 

The barman bowed and she swept past him silently with Neve hurrying in her wake. They walked past many tables of old warlocks, gossiping witches, and a few grumpy-looking dwarves sitting at the bar. The pub was still as grubby-looking and fascinating as Neve remembered it to be. It seemed that it was always so shadowed and dusty inside; Tom probably never bothered to clean the place. Neve suspected this was so because it would have been muddied up straight away from the many customers that regularly strode in and out of the entrance.   
  
There was a staircase to the left of the bar, but Neve had never had the need to go up to the next levels of the pub. She hoped, however, that if she ever had need of the guestrooms above, they'd be much cleaner than what surrounded her now.  


As she followed Mrs Coulden through a door at the very back of the pub, she asked, "Mother, why didn't you come by Floo Powder?" 

"And ruin my new robe? Certainly not! There's enough filth in that pub to cover all England!" replied Mrs Coulden in disgust. "I'll be very glad when you get your Apparition test but in the meantime, you'll have to use Floo." 

Neve thought she would also be very glad to get her Apparition test. She could hardly wait until she would be able to start disappearing and appearing at will to any destination. But she knew it was a very dangerous process, and she assumed that she wouldn't be allowed to even try it until she was at least seventeen, and she still had six years to go. 

They had now come out into a small encircled courtyard containing an over-flowing dustbin and a thin-leafed olive green shrub growing out of a small space in the brick-paved ground, and appeared to be withering before their very eyes. Mrs Coulden pulled out her wand and said to Neve, "Watch carefully. You'll have to do this by yourself soon so you might as well remember now," and raised her wand three bricks up from the dustbin, two bricks across to the right, and tapped the third brick three times. 

It suddenly began to wriggle and a tiny hole appeared in the centre of it, growing wider and wider every second until it was as large as the wall of bricks had been. Now, instead of the wall, a whole new scene opened up before Neve's eyes. The sunny street in front of her was over-crowded with witches and wizards, some with children, others by themselves. As well as being packed with people, it stretched so far that Neve couldn't even see the end of it! It was, of course, Diagon Alley. 

Neve could feel the magic of the place throbbing in the air around her and breathed it in. She wouldn't have been surprised if it started raining glitter or shooting stars, because it felt so wonderful and amazing! She suddenly wondered if a Muggle would be able to feel the exact same emotions that she was feeling and decided against it; after all, they could never do magic themselves so how could they really understand the true beauty of it?  


Neve and her mother walked past all the shops on both sides of the street; Neve turning her head every which way, Mrs Coulden not taking the slightest notice. There was the Apothecary to her left, with its unicorn horns, dead beetles, and other potion ingredients. There to her right was _Madam Selena's Divination Department_, full of every object that is used in the art of fortune-telling. And, up ahead, was _Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour_, full of every flavour of ice cream imaginable!

Mrs Coulden only stopped walking when she reached an enormous white building - Gringotts, the wizarding bank. She then lifted up her robes an inch or two and proceeded to climb the staircase leading to the entrance, with Neve behind her. 

"Are we going to Gringotts?" 

"Obviously," was Mrs Coulden's curt reply. "Your father forgot to give me some extra money to buy your school things so we're going to have to get them ourselves." 

When they both reached the top of the stairs, a short, squint-eyed goblin - dressed in the same scarlet and gold uniform that Neve had seen another goblin wear three years ago when she last visited Gringotts - bowed them through the bronze doors. Another set of doors revealed a pair of uniformed goblins who also bowed them through. Inside the bank, the cavernous marble hall was the same as before, as were the long marble counters standing opposite each other on the left side of the hall. More uniformed goblins were sitting behind them on stools talking to customers, examining precious jewels, or writing in ledgers. 

Mrs Coulden quickly found a free goblin and immediately produced a tiny gold key, saying, "Miss Neve Coulden, vault number nine hundred and thirteen." 

The goblin carefully examined the key, before nodding and calling on another goblin, whose name was Hobnog. Neve and Mrs Coulden followed Hobnog to the right side of the hall and through a door leading away from it. Hobnog held the door open for them and Neve found herself in a narrow stone passageway, the torches on the walls providing the only light. The huge door closed behind them and as the shadows enveloped her, Neve began to feel slightly sick. 

Although she had black hair and liked to wear black clothes, Neve did not like the dark very much. She often had trouble getting to sleep when she younger but, even now, as practical as she was, she could not understand why she had this fear of darkness. She had once mentioned it to her parents but they both assumed such a look of disgust on their faces that she immediately dropped the subject, never to raise it with them again. And now she had to go through the whole process of going underground with two of the people who would most likely never offer their sympathy: her own mother and a goblin.

Hobnog whistled and, almost instantly, a little cart came rushing towards them along the railway tracks on the floor. Mrs Coulden winced slightly. Clearly, this wasn't her favourite way of travel. Despite misgivings, they all climbed into the small cart and were off. 

It seemed that the cart knew its own way around because Hobnog wasn't steering at all. They hurtled around corners without the slightest decrease in velocity, sped through mazes of winding passages. The cool air whipped Neve's hair out behind her and fanned her face enough to be pleasant. She looked at her mother, who was sitting in the cart as though she were a queen, her mouth set in a hard, thin line. Neve looked up then and saw a ceiling of never-ending darkness, like that of a carved-out mountain, and looking down beheld an enormous black chasm that seemed to be bottomless.   


"Are we already below the ground?" inquired Neve of the goblin. 

"No, we've gone behind the Gringotts office," explained Hobnog brusquely. "The bank is situated on an excavated mountain, Gottring. And the vaults are deep inside it."

Neve watched the goblin, waiting for more information, but he pursed his thin lips and didn't seem to want to say anymore. Neve knew that goblins did not like humans much and that they did not like talking in English a lot either, but she wished that Hobnog could have been more informative. Gringotts was one of the wizarding world's most mysterious places and there had been many audacious rumours about what went on inside it.  


The cart soon stopped beside a rather small door in a bare, shadowed passage. Hobnog, Neve and Mrs Coulden clambered out of the cart and, as the goblin was inserting the little golden key into the keyhole, Neve heard another cart speed past them on its way back to the open. The door to vault number nine hundred and thirteen opened and an extravagant sight materialised before Neve's eyes. Large organised mounds of gold Galleons, silver Sickles and bronze Knuts were heaped on the floor of the vault. 

"Is this all ours?" asked Neve, amazed. 

"No, this is all yours," replied Mrs Coulden, her lip curling, as though she didn't think Neve had any need for all that money. "Your father and I will be leaving all this to you when you come of age - that is to say eighteen - when you will be able to use it for whatever purpose you wish. But, in the meantime, it is only to be used for school products, understand?" 

Neve nodded, too astonished to speak. If all these riches were hers alone, then she could just imagine what kind of a mountain of money her parents had. 

Mrs Coulden then proceeded to shovel a good number of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts into a silver-green money bag. Handing it to Neve, she said, "This should last till next summer; mind you don't waste it. The bag is made of Moke-skin, so don't be surprised if it suddenly shrinks when you're with a stranger. That way it won't be stolen off you. Make sure you don't lose it. " 

Neve took the money-bag and placed it in her robe pocket. Then they all climbed back into the little cart and, one dizzying ride later, Neve and Mrs Coulden were walking down the stairs of Gringotts towards the shops of Diagon Alley. 

"Oh, Neve, I have some important business to attend to so you'll have to buy your school things on your own, all right?" said Mrs Coulden. "I'll be waiting for you in the Leaky Cauldron when I finish. Oh, and remember, this money is only for necessary school items, and make sure you get only what is specified. Understand?" 

Neve nodded, displeased. Before Disapparating, Mrs Coulden patted her on the head a few times, smiling stiffly. When she had gone, Neve took out her list of "necessary books and equipment" and consulted it for the first time: 

  


**HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

Uniform  
_First years will require:  
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black, unisex)  
2. Two sets of plain v-necked woollen jerseys (light grey, unisex)  
3. Two sets of plain long-sleeved shirts (white, unisex)  
4. Two pairs of plain full-length trousers (dark grey, boys only)  
5. Three pairs of plain ankle-length socks (light grey, boys only)  
6. One pair of plain lace-up shoes (black, boys only)  
7. Two sets of plain knee-length skirts (dark grey, girls only)  
8. Three pairs of plain knee-length socks (light grey, girls only)  
9. One pair of plain low-heel sandal-strap shoes (black, girls only)  
10. One plain full-length neck-tie (black, unisex)  
11. One plain pointed hat for day wear (black, unisex)  
12. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar, unisex)  
13. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings, unisex)  
14. One pair of plain woollen winter gloves (grey, unisex)  
15. One plain winter scarf (black, unisex)  
16. One full-length Herbology cloak (tan, brown buttons, unisex)  
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags. No pupils are permitted to wear any jewellery (other than a wristwatch) or make-up._

Set Books _All students should have a copy of each of the following:_  
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade One) _by Miranda Goshawk_  
A History of Magic _by Bathilda Bagshot_  
Magical Theory _by Adalbert Waffling_  
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration _by Emeric Switch_  
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _by Phyllida Spore_  
Magical Drafts and Potions _by Arsenius Jigger_  
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _by Newt Scamander_  
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _by Quentin Trimble_

Other Equipment  
_1 wand  
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
1 set glass or crystal phials  
1 telescope  
1 set brass scales _

_Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad _

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS_

  
_As if Mother would _ever_ allow me to buy one anyway_, thought Neve. Mrs Coulden didn't much like sports of any kind and always insisted that Neve would do best to keep her feet on the ground. Mr Coulden, however, didn't object to Neve playing sports, but didn't encourage her either. He would always turn a deaf ear when Neve was not permitted to do something she wanted by her mother. 

Neve already had _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade One)_ at home, as well as _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, and _Magical Theory_, so now she only needed to get four books, as well as all the other equipment and clothes. She decided to buy her animal and wand last, so she entered the shop straight opposite her - _Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions_. Neve had never been in this shop before - her mother usually bought her robes for her - but she wasn't at all nervous. She felt more at home outside, in the magical world, than she did in her own house! 

Madam Malkin was a plump little witch swathed in periwinkle blue robes. "Hogwarts, dear?" she asked, smiling. "We've got everything you'll need. Just stand on that stool over there, and I'll be with you directly." 

So Neve went to the back of the shop and stood a footstool, patiently waiting for Madam Malkin. The whole shop was overflowing with robes of every colour imaginable, from every material that ever existed, and with every pattern that could be made. Flowing silk robes were in one corner, furry velvets in another, and six whole racks were devoted to tartans alone! 

Madam Malkin soon came bustling towards Neve, carrying a pile of black fabric in her arms. She then pulled a black robe over Neve's head and proceeded to pin it to the right length. A few seconds later, a long black cloak was draped around Neve and was similarly pinned. After their removal, folds of grey material sprang onto her body and began sewing themselves into the right size for her. Madam Malkin checked the measurements of the woollen jersey that formed on Neve's thin frame and brought two white shirts, three pairs of socks, and a pair of black low-heeled sandal-strap shoes, all of which fitted Neve perfectly. 

When she had taken all her school clothes off and was back in her own robe, she paid for the lot ("Twenty-four Galleons, three Sickles and one Knut, please! And you get a free Hogwarts trunk with that, since you're a new student!") and exited the shop, pulling the amazingly light trunk of soft packages behind her. 

Next was _Flourish and Blotts_, a bookshop with what seemed like hundreds of shelves that extended right up to the ceiling. In here were thousands of books of different sizes, shapes, thickness, and of course, subjects. As well as getting her required school books, Neve also bought _Hogwarts, A History_ (it would be good to know about where exactly she would be spending the rest of the year); _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ (should be an interesting read, and her father would be pleased with the choice); and _Significant Magical Discoveries - from the 14th Century upto today_ (something useful might pop up in there that she should know about). 

She packed all the books neatly into her trunk, knowing that her mother wouldn't object to the extra selections she made since they were knowledgeable books. She also bought an infinite amount of rolls of parchment, quite a few bottles of ink (red, green, black, blue, and ever-changing colours), and two lavish eagle-feather quills. She visited a few other shops, she also bought a collapsible pewter cauldron, an also collapsible silver telescope, a set of unbreakable crystal phials, and a set of brass scales. The only thing left on her equipment list was a wand, the object that she had most looked forward to buying. She set off down the twisting alley to find a suitable wand shop. 

Neve soon found a little wand shop tucked away in a corner a short way off from Gringotts. A shabby sign over the display window with peeling gold letters proclaimed _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC_, proving that it was very old indeed. A solitary wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dust-covered window. 

As she stepped inside, a bell tinkled somewhere in the depths of the shop. The shop itself was very quiet and crowded with long thin boxes - each of a different colour - stacked neatly right up to the ceiling, but it was also very dusty, as though no one had been in to clean for about a hundred years. Neve reminded herself that this was probably the case. But she somehow liked the tiny shop; the aura of magic inhabiting it was intoxicating, and Neve couldn't wait to start trying out the wands. 

"Good morning," a soft voice breathed. 

Neve whirled around. An old white-haired man was standing behind the counter, his pale silvery eyes glimmering at her expectantly. 

"Good - good morning," whispered Neve. She felt that she ought not to disturb the quiet atmosphere so she spoke as quietly as she could while still being heard. 

"Yes, I expected to see you sometime soon, Neve ... Coulden, is it?" said Mr Ollivander. His blank eyes surveyed her rather curiously. "It was only a few years ago that your ... mother ... was in this very shop, buying her first wand," he continued. "Yes, ten and a half inches long, rather lofty, made of cedar. Not a weak wand, at all." Mr Ollivander suddenly squinted at Neve, who didn't know what to say so she lowered her eyes to the floor. 

Mr Ollivander studied her for a moment, and continued softly, "Your ... father ... visited this shop, too." 

He seemed hesitant of naming Neve's parents and she wondered at this. "He chose an ebony wand," continued Mr Ollivander. "Twelve and a quarter inches. Springy. Very potent wand, that one. One of the most powerful wands I've ever sold!" Mr Ollivander suddenly chuckled, as though remembering an amusing joke. "Well, I say he chose it, but really it is the wand that chooses the wizard, you know."  
He surveyed her rather like a grandfather would their favourite grandchild. "Well then ... let's find you a wand, shall we? Which is your wand arm?" he asked, picking up a long tape measure with silver markings from the counter.  


Neve stuck out her right arm, and patiently waited as she was measured from shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round her head. As the tape measured, Mr Ollivander said, "Each Ollivander wand has a core of a cogent magical substance, Miss Coulden. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. You will not find two Ollivander wands that are the same, just as you will find no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes to be quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand, if I may say so myself."

He was now gathering various thin boxes off the shelves and placing them onto the counter. "That's enough," he said to the tape measure, which promptly fell to the floor after measuring between the corners of Neve's mouth.  


Mr Ollivander then opened a golden box and handed Neve a wand. "Now then... Maple and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Somewhat whippy. Just give it a wave."  
Neve waved the wand from right to left, but nothing in the slightest happened. She gave the wand back to Mr Ollivander who put it into its box and took another out of a lilac-coloured one. "Try this one. Willow and unicorn hair. Eight and a half inches. Nice and bendy."  


Again Neve waved from right to left, and again nothing at all occurred. Still undaunted, Mr Ollivander snatched it from her hand and, from a scarlet box, procured yet another wand ("Mahogany and phoenix feather. Nine inches. Pliable.") which Neve waved with similarly no results. She tried many more wands after that - all of which failed to produce anything that would suggest one of them was destined for her. 

Even though Neve became a little worried and impatient, Mr Ollivander could not be deterred. "Not to worry," he assured her, noting her unrest, "there's always a perfect match for even the... trickiest... customer! Ah ... perhaps this one ... hmmmm ... and then again, perhaps not ... yet, it wouldn't hurt to try..."

He was gazing at a dark purple box in his hands; one of the very few left. He then glanced at Neve and nodded somewhat hesitatingly. "Right then, try this one. Redwood and phoenix feather. Seven and a quarter inches. Inflexible." 

Neve took the wand and immediately felt a tingling not only in her fingers, but in her whole body. She shivered involuntarily. Then she raised the wand into the air and brought it swishing down in a wave of blue, green and silver sparks. Mr Ollivander cried, "Oh well done! Very good indeed! And ... how interesting ... how extremely interesting ..."

He wrapped the wand in brown paper and put it back in its box, still muttering distractedly, "Indubitably interesting ... but I should have expected it ..." 

Neve couldn't hold in her curiosity any longer. "Sir ... could you please tell me _what_ exactly is so interesting and _what_ you should have expected?" 

Mr Ollivander fastened his misty eyes on Neve. He looked both excited and wary at the same time. "This wand is very strong and very powerful, Miss Coulden. And whoever has possession of a wand as potent as this one must be expected to perform great deeds. And so far, all the powerful wands that I have ever sold that have been used by great witches and wizards have been employed in doing great things. So it is just right for us to expect great things from you also. 

"Another interesting matter is that this is the second wand I have sold today that contains so much potency. It is most likely that you will meet the other buyer, though whether the greatness you wield will assist or... impair... each other I know not. Time will bring everything about in its due course." 

Neve suppressed another involuntary shiver. Of course it was all very well and good to expect great things from her, but the question was how exactly was she supposed to do them? She had no idea what kind of great things she could do at Hogwarts, apart from getting top marks in her schoolwork, but she had a feeling that Mr Ollivander meant something quite different. She couldn't say that Mr Ollivander was her favourite person in the world but nevertheless, she liked him, despite his mysterious and doubtful words. Mr Ollivander had given her something to look forward to in more than one sense. 

Before she stepped out of the shop, Mr Ollivander spoke to her again. "Believe in fate, Miss Coulden, and beware of it, for fate is a dangerous and wonderful thing that may help you in your lifetime." 

And finally, with her thoughts in turmoil, Neve went off on her way back to the Leaky Cauldron where her mother would be waiting to go back to Coulden Manor.

  
  
  



	3. All Good Things Take Time

**CHAPTER THREE  
_All Good Things Take Time_**

  
Almost two months had passed since Neve had visited Diagon Alley and they had elapsed most uneventfully. Now it was the thirty-first of August - the day before she would be leaving Coulden Manor for Hogwarts. She had only started anticipating the day a couple of weeks ago, though she knew it would be less detrimental to her health if she controlled her emotions and didn't let her excitement show. 

She knew that her father wouldn't share her enthusiasm and that her mother would just start rambling on about how much fun she had when she was at Hogwarts. This, for Neve, a very dull way to pass the time as she had learnt to detest her mother's gossip sessions (which were usually over-flowing with lies) and avoided them whenever she could. 

Neve had learned long ago to conceal her true emotions and remain, on the outside, impassive. Many of her mother's friends had called her a cold and unfeeling child because she never shared the emotions that other children expressed, was never as loud as the other children, but instead was docile and reserved.   


Neve knew well that if she did uncover her inside feelings neither her mother nor her father would listen or understand them - her mother being too self-centred and her father unaffectionate. Mr Coulden's insatiable and uncaring attitude towards her was what bothered Neve the most. 

When she was younger she would continually try to appease him by getting the highest marks at school or by making herself learn how to do things to the best of her ability, but nothing she did seemed to make him proud of her. When she was old enough to realise that, Neve stopped trying to please him.   


She lost all love that she ever had for her father. And the only way she could deal with it all was by living life for herself, for the pleasure of it. That is, if any pleasure could be found in her life. She resolved to get the most out of life, to be the best of the best, with or without any affection.  


And yet Mr Coulden's indifference towards her made a very pronounced change in Neve. Although she had never really been a lively or happy child, she became progressively quieter and gloomier than ever. Mrs Coulden often liked to complain about this aspect of Neve, saying that it was this sullenness that gave Coulden Manor its sombreness. 

Neve had also acquired a rather sarcastic manner which her mother didn't approve of at all. But Neve didn't change her ways. She had grown to used to them - they had formed her into who she had become - and she wouldn't let anything change that. She liked being surly and antisocial. Not only did it keep people from pestering her too much, but it also provided her with an endless supply of morbid things to brood on.   
  
There was no denying that she was a strange child. Darkness and depression suited her much better than brightness and joy: this was common knowledge in the Coulden household and its circle of associates. Neve, though, managed to see beauty in the most morbid thing, even where others were repulsed and appalled.   


It was nine o'clock in the evening, on August thirty-first, and Neve was sitting on her bed, her Hogwarts trunk lying open at her feet, with books, robes, and other magical equipment all packed neatly into it. A cage on the mahogany desk by the window held a handsome silver-white owl, who was watching Neve as she checked off all the items on her necessities list. 

"Well, I think that's all, Nyx," she said to the owl. "And even if I've forgotten something, I can get it sent over, so no big deal." 

Nyx hooted in a reassuring way and rearranged his wings. Neve had bought him from Diagon Alley after she bought her wand from Mr Ollivander. She suddenly remembered his words about the power of her wand, and her eyes fell on the long purple box which lay tucked into a space between her school books and uniform. 

She hadn't told anyone about what Mr Ollivander had said to her because she knew that her father would deny there was anything special about her and her mother would start prattling about how something quite like this had happened to her when she bought her wand.   


Mr Ollivander appeared so sure that she wasn't quite the ordinary witch, though! What about all those great deeds she was going to do? There had to be something more to her, there just had to be. 

**~ ~ ~**

Neve woke up at sunrise the next day with the shrill tones of her alarm clock serving as her wake-up call ("Wake-up, you malevolent brat!" as usual). Even she couldn't suppress her excitement any longer. She put on a navy blue robe and, after brushing her hair, surveyed herself in the long oval mirror standing in a corner by her wardrobe. As she stared blankly back at her reflection, she was somewhat reminded of a picture she'd once seen in a Muggle magazine. 

It was a of a young girl from a television show called _The Addams Family_ and the girl was called Wednesday Addams. Neve thought there was quite a resemblance between the girl and herself, the only differences being that Neve never braided her hair, which was uncharacteristically straight and never confined into a pony-tail by its owner, and of course, Neve had to wear robes.  


She was quite unruffled by the similarity of appearance between her and the Muggle girl because she didn't mind Muggles at all. They were all human beings, after all, the only difference between wizards and Muggles being the fact that wizards could do magic and Muggles couldn't. There were even more similarities between them! Both had tried to persecute the other just for being who they were. But of course, most wizards overlooked that fact, being in favour of wizard domination.  


Both Mr and Mrs Coulden, however, had exactly the opposite views from Neve on the matter, just like a number of other pure-blood families. Neve hadn't even bothered to convince them otherwise because she knew it would be quite a pointless exercise, as both her parents had had it drilled into them from their youth and weren't very likely to abandon the opinion, not even at their deaths.

When Neve had finished contemplating herself in the mirror (which she normally never did because she despised all vanity), she hurried downstairs for her breakfast. She wasn't the only one up. The Coulden's house-elf, Botty, was busy scurrying about, cooking breakfast for the rest of the family. He was so preoccupied that he didn't even notice Neve until she greeted him. 

"Oh yes, morning is good, Miss. Especially for you, Miss. You is going to Hogwarts, Miss!" he squeaked good-naturedly. 

"Yes I am, Botty. This is my last breakfast here until I get home next summer," replied Neve. 

"So it is, Miss. And so Botty is making Miss a special breakfast! Botty knew Miss would get up early today." 

"Well - erm - thanks. That's really - er - nice of you," said Neve, causing Botty's eyes to become misted over with tears of gratitude.   


Although Neve had become quite used to Botty's kindness she sometimes wanted to discourage him from being so nice to her because she knew it would come to no good. But whenever she saw his round, elfish face glazed over with happiness, she just couldn't bring herself to wipe it off with harsh words. Which was very odd, as she rarely hesitated to do so with people. 

Neve then moved out of the kitchen and left Botty to it. She came into the dining room, which was already ablaze with sunlight, as the crimson drapes had already been drawn back from the windows by Botty. She went to the window nearest her and looked out onto the sunny bedewed lawn in front of Coulden Manor. 

It was the first time Neve had left the Manor for more than a few hours and she was not at all sorry to go. In fact, she was rather gratified that it was so, for she would be away from both her parents for a whole year and the pattern would continue for six years more. And then, then she would be able to leave it forever and make her own way in the world. 

She could hardly wait to get to Hogwarts now. There she could meet, shock and repel other students, and learn as much as her brain could hold. She nearly sighed with content.   


However, she was not looking forward to socialising with one particular person. 

The Malfoy family lived about the same distance from Tidworth as the Couldens, and were on very good terms with Mr and Mrs Coulden. But such was not the case with Neve.   


Whenever the Couldens visited the Malfoys or the favour was returned by the former, Lucius Malfoy always looked upon Neve with a leer on his face, as if he was mocking her for a reason that Neve was not aware of. She had never learned to like him. With his long silver hair, expensive robes and snake-topped cane, he was always too unctuous and conceited for her approval, and she always stayed as far away from him as was possible.  


His coldly beautiful wife, Narcissa Malfoy, had something of a similar expression when she set her sharp grey eyes on Neve, but hers was one mixed with curiosity. However, she rarely said a kind word to Neve except for the usual niceties. Apart from being the most beautiful and elegant witch Neve had ever encountered so far, Narcissa Malfoy had a reputation for having the most venomous tongue of all the witches in Britain, and Neve was only too happy to stay out of her way. 

The Malfoys lived in a manor as well. It was about the same size as that of the Couldens and much the same style, though a little more gloomy and dark. Neve suspected that the only reason Coulden Manor wasn't as dreary as the Malfoy home was because of Mrs Coulden, who liked a properly lit house. This was because she judged how much pride a family had in their home and how rich they were by the way the house was illuminated and decorated. 

Neve thought this very silly and presumed that Mrs Malfoy thought so too because _she_ seemed to judge people by their garments, size of home, and blood. The Malfoys looked down horribly on anyone who couldn't live up to their style of living, as well as anyone who had less than pure-blooded ancestors. 

The Malfoys' son, Draco, was by now the same age as Neve, but she had hardly ever seen him, much less talked to him. She suspected that his parents would convince him to be of the same opinion of Neve as they were and, truth be told, she didn't really care much about it as she had never been too keen on establishing any kind of ties with them. So she prepared herself for nothing but enmity from the youngest Malfoy and smiled a little bitterly - she had acquired an enemy without even setting foot in Hogwarts. 

When Neve turned away from the window she found that her breakfast had already been lain on the dining table, waiting for her. So, without further ado, she sat down and began to devour it with relish.   


It was already half past seven when she'd finished and Mrs Coulden entered the room, wearing a mildly irritated expression and exquisite grey silk dressing-gown with silver trimmings. She looked up and saw Neve. 

"Good morning. Your father Disapparated for work half an hour ago so you won't be seeing him until next summer. And you'll be going to Hogwarts today! Aren't you excited? I remember the day when I was going to Hogwarts! I was so happy that I could barely contain myself! My mother had to give me an Appeasement Potion to calm me down!" she cooed, attempting and failing to smile affectionately. And she continued on in this vein for quite some time but, as usual, Neve had stopped listening when she detected yet another reminiscing session coming on. 

She was thinking about Mr Coulden. If he had gone to work half an hour ago, then it was six o'clock, and Neve had risen at sunrise which, that day, was at half past five. Then suddenly it hit her; like a grim wave of realisation, it hit her over the head and she mentally staggered - he had deliberately left early so that he wouldn't have to see her off. He didn't even want to say goodbye to her, and he wasn't going to see her for a whole year. 

_Well screw him_, thought Neve, mentally shrugging. _ If he doesn't give a damn about me, then so be it. The least he could do was to say goodbye but, he, the sodding bastard, was too heartless to even do that little thing_. And for Neve, little things always counted. 

She had often wondered what exactly he did at work. She didn't even know where he worked or whom he shared his occupation with, for Mr Coulden would never tell her and Mrs Coulden didn't seem to know or care about it at all. Neve hoped that it didn't have anything to do with the Dark Arts but, knowing her father, it most certainly would as he had spent so much of his youth studying them and perhaps had his own business. 

But Neve had no way of knowing for sure; Mr Coulden's profession was never discussed in the Coulden household. Neve couldn't help but think that, whatever it was, his job probably wasn't most law-abiding. And if Mr Coulden wanted Neve to take the reins when he had retired (which she sincerely doubted), then he was in for a big surprise. 

Neve didn't really want a profession of practising the Dark Arts; she wasn't one to risk spending half of her life in Azkaban. And she couldn't even imagine her father retiring; he'd probably either keep working till the day he died or sell it to someone trustworthy for an exorbitant price - anything other than let Neve run it for him. Perhaps he would allow Mrs Coulden to take care of it ... but then again, probably not, because Mrs Coulden never concerned herself with jobs and found the whole matter extremely dull, even though she really loved her money. 

Neve had read in some fiction book or another about how many fathers wanted sons so that they could carry on with the family business when their parents had died, and she used to think that maybe this was the reason why Mr Coulden didn't seem to want her - because she was a girl. She had asked her mother once why they didn't have any more children, and Mrs Coulden laughed and said that they didn't want her to become jealous; she was their own child and they didn't need more. 

But Neve couldn't help thinking that there was more to the issue than that; she had detected a look of guilty panic in her mother's eyes, even though her face masked all other emotions except amusement. Neve knew she would find out someday because she wouldn't leave the Coulden Manor with a past full of lies, but she didn't think that she'd like the truth, whatever it was. However, she could wait a while more if need be; after all, she had waited up till now, hadn't she? 

When Mrs Coulden had finally finished chatting about her first day at Hogwarts, Neve excused herself with the explanation that she still had to get some packing done as she had left it last night because she was too tired. 

This, of course, was a lie; she had packed everything needed, and just wanted to get away from her mother's incessant prattling which, after being reminded that they would be leaving at eight o'clock, she finally did. At least at Hogwarts she could have some peace. 

Neve whiled away the hours leading to eight o'clock by reading up on various curses and their counter-curses which she could use on any enemies that she might make. She hoped that her life at Hogwarts would not entirely be based on studies. And at precisely two minutes past eight she heard Mrs Coulden's voice shouting that it was time to go. She laid her book on her desk, took hold of a handle on the side of her trunk and began pulling it downstairs, along with Nyx inside his cage. 

At long last she found herself in the entrance hall of the Manor with an extremely harassed-looking Mrs Coulden and a velvet-clad bearded man who was staring around the hall, his expression torn between disapproval and amazement. As soon as he caught sight of Neve, the man dropped his examination of the hall and hurried over to her saying, "Let me help you with that, Miss Coulden. It must be awfully heavy!" 

And he was right; the trunk was now almost unbearably heavy and Neve couldn't lift it at all. The man drew out his wand, muttered a spell of some sort, and the trunk was immediately lifted off the ground. It hovered in front of the man as he briskly strode out of the door towards the emerald-green car outside and lowered the floating trunk into the open boot of the car. He then closed the boot and jumped into the driver's seat. 

Neve instantly recognised the car as one from the Ministry of Magic, which occasionally allowed their enchanted means of transportation to be borrowed by certain important people and Neve's first thought on the matter was that her mother must've organised it all. Her father wouldn't have bothered his head about it unless her mother proposed it herself. But, as Mrs Coulden loved taking all the credit of doing good jobs, she hardly ever asked Mr Coulden to do anything she couldn't do herself. 

So Neve trotted out of the door and got into the backseat of the car while Mrs Coulden got into the front beside the driver. The Ministry car was very luxurious, with plush velvet seats and shiny tinted windows. _ Botty would approve_, she thought. He always loved polishing things till they shone and had a bit of a mania with silver objects, making him rather like a magpie. 

Then suddenly, she remembered that she hadn't said goodbye to him! _ I'm almost as bad as my father_, she thought bitterly. But she'd be seeing him again in a year's time; it's not like she was leaving this house forever. 

But, in a dark secluded corner of her mind, she wished she was leaving it for good because it hadn't really brought her much joy. Neve took one last look at the Manor, silently bidding it goodbye with her eyes. She put the thought right back into its dark corner before turning away and settling herself for a two hour drive to King's Cross station, where she would be departing onboard the Hogwarts Express, the train that took Hogwarts students to their first destination - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.


	4. The Journey To Hogwarts

**CHAPTER FOUR  
_The Journey To Hogwarts_**

  
Two hours later, they arrived at King's Cross station with half an hour to spare. This time, the Ministry driver did not use magic to lift Neve's trunk. He found a trolley, carefully placed the trunk and Nyx in it, and, after touching his velvet hat, drove off back down the street like an inconspicuous green panther.   


Both Neve and Mrs Coulden had taken off their robes in the car as they were wearing Muggle clothing underneath and it would not be prudent to let any Muggles notice something out of the ordinary. Mrs Coulden was dressed in an elegant lavender ensemble made of silk which set off her dark auburn hair nicely, while Neve wore her usual black knee-length skirt and green woollen jersey with polished, black Mary-Jane shoes. 

As she wheeled her trolley after Mrs Coulden into the station, Neve heard a whistle blow and caught a glimpse of a Muggle train passing out of the station. She'd only seen these sort of trains in books and to see them in real life was much more intriguing. Mrs Coulden, however, strode briskly through the station without stopping to look at anything or turning her head at all. 

She led Neve to the space between platform nine and platform ten and gave Neve her ticket, which had a platform nine and three quarters written on it. But, when Neve glanced up at the platform numbers again, she was confused to find that there was no such thing. She turned to her mother and asked, "How exactly do I get onto the platform?" 

Mrs Coulden laughed and said, "Oh, I did forget to tell you, didn't I? It was exactly the same way with me when I first came here!" 

And she carried on chattering for a bit more, while Neve was hoping that this would not turn out to be another of her reminiscing sessions. But thankfully, it wasn't. Mrs Coulden soon stopped and instructed Neve on how to enter the magical platform. "You walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten, yes that one there, and don't stop until you go quite through it, understand? Oh, and do try to get into Slytherin house." 

"What if I get put in another house?" asked Neve. 

"Well ... your father and I will be proud of you anyway, but it would be preferable if you did get into Slytherin. Bear that in mind, won't you?" 

Neve nodded, highly dubious of the fact that her father would be proud of her for getting into a specific house - no more than he would be proud of her if she turned him into a toad. After giving her mother a very reluctant smile and a word of farewell, she faced the solid-looking brick barrier and began walking towards it, pushing the trolley in front of her. 

Gathering speed, she broke into a run - the barrier coming nearer and nearer - the wall looking too awfully solid and ordinary - what if this was the wrong barrier? What if she crashed into it and there was no way to get onto platform nine and three quarters? But then the front of her trolley finally met the bricks and melted into them, along with Neve herself. For a moment all was darkness and then she stumbled out into the light once more. 

The sight that met her eyes was that of a crimson steam engine waiting next to a platform teeming with people and steam. She looked up and saw a wrought iron archway above her head proclaiming _Platform Nine and Three Quarters_ and underneath that was a different sign saying _Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock_. This was it; she'd done it!

Neve pushed her trolley along the platform, searching for an empty carriage on the train and finding one near the end. But getting the trunk onto the train was a different matter; she had read _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade One_ many times before and knew of the perfect spell that could help her. The problem was that she wasn't allowed to practice any magic as an under-age witch. Mrs Coulden had drilled into her mind that if the Ministry of Magic found out that she was doing spell-work outside school, she would most certainly be expelled - and she hadn't even set foot in Hogwarts! 

So she was left with no other alternative but to put it on the train by hand. She grasped a handle and half-lifted it up, but then dropped it back down. She couldn't do it; it was too heavy. 

Just as she was about to go ask the wizened old guard for assistance she heard a voice to her right. "D'you want some help with that?" 

The speaker was a smug-looking girl who was about the same height as Neve, had a snub-nose, laughing blue eyes and cheek-length auburn hair with tips that curled outwardly. She wasn't wearing her Hogwarts robes yet, and she looked to be about the same age as Neve. 

"If you can lift this trunk, then yes, I'd like you to help me," replied Neve. 

The other girl smiled, showing pearly teeth and, with her aid, Neve managed to get the trunk onto a shelf in the compartment and then collapse into a seat. "You can sit with me if you like. This was the only free compartment I could find!" she said. 

The girl grinned. "Well, this is actually my compartment, I was just coming back to sit down. You'll find that my trunk is under your seat, as I didn't have time to put it up onto the shelf 'cause my grandmother was calling me back. By the way, I'm Roisin MacKeve," she added, offering her hand. 

"Neve Coulden," said Neve, shaking Roisin's hand. Then something occurred to her. "Wait a minute, did you say MacKeve?" 

"None other," Roisin answered. 

Neve had suddenly remembered the surname MacKeve from listening in to her mother's conversation with Mrs Malfoy when she had visited Coulden Manor. They had been talking about Death Eaters, the followers of (in their opinion) the greatest Dark wizard of the century, Lord Voldemort. 

Mr and Mrs Coulden had never talked to Neve about him so she used her books as a source of information - as well as eavesdropping on certain conversations between her parents and the Malfoys - for she was very curious to know about Voldemort. And now she was sure that she had met the daughter of one of Lord Voldemort's followers! That is, if all the things she'd heard about the matter were true. So, intrigued, she proceeded to question Roisin. 

"Your father was Evan Rosier, right?" Roisin's grin faded to be replaced by a wistful smile, and her bright, clear eyes darkened slightly, but her voice was calm and strong when she said, "Too true. Killed by an Auror, he was." 

Neve had read about Aurors also; they were the magical equivalent of the Muggle police force, but had much more dangerous work to do than any ordinary police-man. "After Voldemort was defeated?" 

Roisin gave Neve a surprised look before bringing up her grin again. "You're the first kid I've ever heard say his name properly. And thank Merlin for that! I was getting really sick of hearing You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and all that. I mean, it's just a bloody name - it's not like every time you say it, the actual object of your discussion is going to pop up right in front of you, and drag your soul out through your ears, is it?" 

Neve snorted, but didn't smile at Roisin, who sat down on the soft leather seat and made herself comfortable. 

Neve heard the doors of the train snap shut and a whistle blew, signalling the departure of the Hogwarts Express. Various people were standing on the platform waving to the occupants of the train and suddenly Roisin stood up, opened the window, and leaned out. 

"Bye Gran! See you Grandpa!" she yelled, waving frantically to two tall grey-haired people who waved back with equal fervour. When they had finally gone out of view, she sat back down and fixed Neve with a not-at-all embarrassed stare, the same grin plastered on her face. "Those are my grandparents. I've lived with them all my life and they're two of the coolest people around." 

"But why have you been living with them? What about your mother?" demanded Neve curiously. 

Roisin sighed resignedly and shook her head. "Ah well, I guess I'm going to have to tell you all about it. I don't mind, really. I somewhat like hearing about it myself. Brace yourself for a bit of a tragic love story," she said, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

Then, taking a deep breath, she began. "My father, who you know is Evan Rosier, married a witch by the name of Irene Beyd, four years after he left Hogwarts. He was already a Death Eater by that time, having joined Voldemort during his Hogwarts years, as many other wizards from his house did. That house being Slytherin, of course.   


"But Irene Beyd didn't know that he was a Death Eater. If she had, she probably wouldn't have married him. He knew that she wouldn't have done so, but he fell in love with her so deeply that he concealed the fact from her when they were married. 

"Two years later, they had a daughter - Patrin Rosier. And still he covered the fact that he was working for Lord Evil-Git, and Irene suspected nothing. Every time he had a meeting with Mr Power-Hungry or went out to do his deeds, he told her he was going out to work, and because she was so in love with him herself, she believed him. Well, any woman would; he was one of the handsomest men in Britain and, when he gave his love, he gave it unconditionally and unreservedly. 

"But another thing that Irene didn't know about was that he had met another witch who - erm - _ensnared_ him, to put it bluntly, with her beauty and natural charm, and he fell in love with her as well. That woman, Ardette MacKeve, who was later to be my mother, ended up falling in love with him too, oblivious to the fact that he was married with a child, for he never told her and she never found out... not even at her death." 

Here, Roisin had to swallow and take a pause, for it always pained her to talk about her mother's death. Even though she had never met her, she loved her with all her heart and had wished many a time that things had turned out differently. 

Presently, she continued. "There was many a rumour that my father had heaps of other affairs, but the only one that was dragged into the light was the one with my mother. And here I am, the living, breathing evidence. Anyway, my mother and father's affair carried on for a whole year and still Irene knew nothing, for my father was deeply in love with her; so much in love that he would die for her rather than see her suffer. 

"But he couldn't help loving my mother the same way, and he was torn between his wife and his lover. And then I was born. My mother died giving birth to me, my father was devastated, and Irene finally found out about the affair from a friend of hers, with me as the proof. She didn't tell my father that she knew - she kept it to herself the whole time. And my father only realised that she had discovered it when, coming home one evening after a meeting with the Evil One, he found she had committed suicide by hanging herself from the chandelier. 

"And that was it for him. He'd lost his two most beloved women and was left with the fruit of his love - Patrin and myself. Thankfully, he didn't abandon us at the mercy of a Muggle orphanage. He put me with my mother's parents - they're the ones that you saw just before - and Patrin with his own parents. And he never forgot either of us; he was continually visiting us and he left us a whopper of an inheritance that we're to split when we come of age! 

"Only he was killed when I was three and Patrin was five. I was told about Patrin just four years ago, and even then I didn't get the whole truth. But I got it out of my grandparents last year, and we're both on really good terms with each other." 

Neve had remained silent for the duration of the account so that Roisin could speak undisturbed and, when she had finished, Neve thought that Roisin was right about it being a tragic love story. She felt just a little sorry for Roisin, but the girl seemed to be coping quite well with the events of her parents' lives and Neve was grateful for that. But she couldn't help saying, "I know how you must feel, being an orphan." 

Roisin looked at her suspiciously. "But both your parents are alive, aren't they?" 

"Yeah, but it's not much different. I've thought sometimes that it would be better if I didn't have any," said Neve, thoughtfully. 

Roisin shook her head fervently. "Don't you dare say that! You're lucky that you have parents, lucky that you have a proper family who loves you and takes care of you, and - " 

"And we're also lucky that we have mosquitoes!" interrupted Neve sarcastically. 

Roisin stared at her in surprise for a moment, then at the ceiling of the compartment reflectively. Then all of a sudden - "Yeah, we are! Frogs need something to eat too, you know." She was about to continue, but hastily closed her mouth when Neve gave her a dark look. 

The next few minutes passed in surprisingly comfortable silence, as both Neve and Roisin were gazing out the window at the scenery. The landscape had abruptly changed as they had been carried out of London; the buildings of the city had given way to large fields and neat pastures dotted with cows, sheep and horses. 

Around half past twelve, a kind-faced smiling woman slid open the door of their compartment and said, "Anything off the trolley, dears?" 

Neve and Roisin looked at each other and Neve said, "A packet of Chocolate Frogs and Liquorice Wands, a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, six Cauldron Cakes, and two Pumpkin Pasties, please." 

The woman disappeared for a moment, and they heard her clattering around in the corridor before bringing Neve the desired products. The whole time Neve had been ordering the sweets, Roisin had been searching her pockets and produced a silvery money-bag, out of which she took the due amount of money and handed it to the woman. Then she immediately proceeded to open the box of Pumpkin Pasties and managed to consume half a pasty in one bite, while Neve barely got to a quarter. 

"Sorry, but I haven't had any breakfast today, so I'm really hungry!" Roisin explained, noticing her own voracity. 

"It's all right, I'm hungry myself. I know I sound arrogant when I say this, but I just can't fit anymore into my mouth. That's why I bite such small amounts, even though I've been told that I have a bigger mouth than an eleven-year-old should ever have," explicated Neve. "Oh, and remind me to pay you back when we finish all this, OK?" 

Roisin made an impatient gesture with her free hand and said, "Nothing doing. If you try to pay me back, I won't accept the money. We're friends now, aren't we?" 

"Erm ... no," Neve pronounced lazily, biting into her Pumpkin Pasty. Then calmly added, "Fuck off."

But Roisin's wide mouth split into an appreciative grin. "Excellent! That's the spirit! You know what? I think I'm going to get on really well with you."

"Didn't I just tell you to fuck off? Or are you going deaf?"  


"Not as far as I know. Is that what you say to all your friends?"

"Don't have any," said Neve, shrugging.

"What, seriously?" asked Roisin, shocked. "How can you not have any friends? Everyone has friends! Even the lowliest and stupidest of human beings!"

"Well I don't, and there's no need to make such a big fuss about it."

"Well you're going to have friends now. I'll be your first!" exclaimed Roisin. Then she grimaced. "Urgh, that sounded so dodgy."

This time, Neve couldn't help grinning wickedly. "So that's what goes on in your dirty little mind. Do your grandparents know?"

Roisin shuddered. "I certainly hope not. Hate to think of what would ensue if they did. So anyway, are you going to be my friend or not?"

Neve surveyed the girl before her coolly and answered with, "I'll think about it. But I warn you not to expect any trust from me. I don't trust anyone at all and I don't think I'm going to start with you."

"Why not?"

"Same reason why I don't have any friends," said Neve, lowering her pasty and assuming the air of someone trying to teach a curious five-year-old about how the world was made. "Trust places too much responsibility and pressure on a person. If you betray a person, they'll hate you forever and there's that relationship lost. But if you don't have any friends, then you don't have anyone trusting you, and you can go through life much more easily, with a clear conscience."

"But having friends gives you advantages! Free help and all that," argued Roisin.

Neve paused for a moment, looking out the window of the train. "I can always charm the people I need ... and get rid of the ones that prove disadvantageous."

Roisin stared at her, both eyebrows raised in wonder. "You're weird," she decided.

"Do I deny it?"

"No. And I like you for it."  


And so they ate their way through the food that Roisin's money had bought, enjoying themselves immensely. They had a lot of fun eating the Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, because there was no knowing which flavour you might get, and some of them were not at all pleasant. Roisin was the one who got the most unsavoury tastes in their opinion, like cauliflower, horseradish, soap, and mushroom.   


Later on in the afternoon, when they had finished all their food except for a few left-over Ever Flavour Beans, which both of them knew would not taste very good, they had a couple of visitors. 

The first was a plump, round-faced boy who looked like he was on the verge of tears. "Sorry, but have either of you seen a toad anywhere?" 

"Our greatest apologies, but no, we haven't," replied Roisin, with a half pitying and half amused look on her face. 

"I've been looking for him for almost an hour, and I think I've lost him for good!" wailed the boy. 

"Try looking on the luggage racks and under seats; he might be sitting in a dark corner somewhere," said Neve. 

The boy nodded and thanked them before waddled out of the compartment. Then, about twenty minutes later, the door of their compartment slid open again and the boy was back, only he had a girl with him. She had bushy brown hair and was already dressed in her Hogwarts uniform. 

"Have you two seen a toad at all? Neville here lost his about an hour ago and we've been asking everybody on the train," she said in a very bossy voice. 

"Well, as Neville seems to have forgotten that we have been asked the same question before by himself no less than twenty minutes ago, I shall repeat: our greatest apologies, but NO, we have not seen _any_ kind of toad, _anywhere_ at all!" answered Roisin, exasperated. 

The other girl sighed and pinched her lips together. "Well, if you do see him, then tell one of us, because it's very important that Neville finds him." She paused for a few seconds, glancing from one girl to the other. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. Who are you?" 

"Neve Coulden." 

"Roisin MacKeve." 

"Oh." Hermione Granger paused again, apparently thinking of something else to say. The boy, Neville, whispered something to her and she nodded saying, "All right, go on then," as Neville disappeared. Then she turned back to Neve and Roisin. "What house do you think you'll be in? _I_ really hope I'm in Gryffindor; _everything_ I've heard about it _really_ appeals to me, and _did_ you know that Dumbledore himself was one? Interesting, isn't it? But anyway, what house do you want to get into?" she inquired, saying all of this so quickly that neither Roisin nor Neve could get a word in. 

"Well, if I'm not in Slytherin then Roisin here will be organising my funeral," said Neve. 

Hermione looked truly astonished. "Slytherin? But that's - that's - " She broke off, seemingly unable to find an appropriate word to describe the house. 

"It's what? If you're going to say that Slytherin is the worst house ever founded and that only evil witches and wizards get into that house then, may I ask, what exactly are you doing talking with us?" Neve asked, curtly. 

"And if you're going to be a wonderful little goody-good Gryffindor, then you don't want to be associating with filthy savage Slytherins, do you? Everyone might think that you're just as evil as we are," grinned Roisin. 

Hermione looked quite shocked. "Oh, but I didn't mean to insult you! I - I've just heard that - that Slytherin is - isn't - is - " Once again, she paused and a flush of pink formed on her cheeks. 

"Didn't mean to insult us! Now that's a good one," laughed Roisin. "Granger, what you call insults are compliments to us, since three quarters of Hogwarts - excluding Slytherin house members - believe that our future house holds evil incarnate." 

Hermione mumbled something incoherent fearfully, then a little louder said, "I'll be going then. You two had better change into your uniforms; we should be at Hogwarts in about half an hour," and closed the door after walking out. 

"She'll be fun," said Neve, standing on her seat and getting her uniform out of her trunk. 

"But typical non-Slytherin reaction, wasn't it? She couldn't have looked more horrified if we'd told her we were the offspring of Lord Voldemort!" said Roisin, pulling her trunk from under Neve's seat and opening it. 

"She'd probably have fainted if we told her that. D'you reckon the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and the rest of the Gryffindors will be like that?" 

"If they are, we're in for a fun year!" replied Roisin. She looked at Neve and their lips formed identical evil grins. 

By the time they were wearing their complete Hogwarts uniforms the sky was a dark purple, stars were beginning to blossom here and there, and the train seemed to have lessened in speed. 

A man's voice reverberated through the train: "We will arrive at Hogwarts in five minutes time. Please leave your luggage on the train, as it will be taken to the school separately." 

Neve began to feel excited again and her heart quickened its pace with nervousness. Glancing at Roisin, she saw that the other girl was slightly pale, but in good spirits nonetheless. As the train began slowing down, they both came out of their compartment and joined the crowd gathering in the corridor. When they had finally come to a stand-still, the doors opened and everyone began piling out onto a small, dark platform.   


Neve then saw a lamp bobbing high up in the air, but couldn't make out exactly who or what was holding it. She motioned Roisin to move closer to the front and they both made their way through the milling crowd to where a gigantic, hairy man was standing, holding the little lamp aloft. 

"Firs' years over here! Firs' years! C'mon now, this way - all firs' years follow me!" he shouted into the cold night air. 

Very quietly, the crowd of first-years followed the man up a sharply sloping path, into the darkness. They seemed to be surrounded by a thick forest because Neve couldn't see through the black gloom on either side of her. 

"Jus' round this bend here yeh'll get yeh firs' sight o' the school," the giant called over his shoulder. "Jus' a sec an' yeh'll see it." 

All of a sudden, there was a loud "Oooooh!" of appreciation and amazement from the first-years. The steep, narrow path had opened onto the edge of a very large black lake, which reflected the silvery orb of the moon and the twinkling stars. Settled on a high craggy mountain on the other side of the lake, its many windows burning with light from inside, was a prodigious castle with not a few towers and turrets. 

"Right now, into the boats! And no more'n four to each!" exclaimed the giant, pointing a sizeable finger at a group of little boats floating in the water by the shore. 

Then suddenly a shriek rent the still atmosphere. Neve and Roisin swung around to find a girl with a pug-like face and dark chestnut hair in thick curls, pointing at a fat, gulping toad on the ground with a look of abject revulsion on her face. 

"It's only a toad, you twit," said Neve scornfully. 

Beside her, Roisin was attempting to keep herself from falling over with giggles. The girl gave Neve a very ugly look indeed as Neville ran forward and scooped up the toad. 

"All right, into the boats now!" cried the giant man, giving Neve a furtive smile to which she gave a small nod in return. 

She and Roisin were followed into their boat by two boys who they didn't know. "Everyone in? Right then - FORWARD!" shouted the giant, and the little boats began to swiftly, silently move towards the opposite bank, clearly by magic. 

There was utter silence, broken only by the lapping of the water against the sides of the boats. The great castle rose up high in front of them as they sailed closer and closer to the cliff on which it perched. 

"Heads down!" yelled the giant as the boats carried them through a curtain of ivy which masked a wide opening in the cliff face. 

They were brought along a shadowed passage, which seemed to be taking them right under the castle itself, but they floated into a kind of small underground harbour where they left the boats and scrambled out onto pebbles and rocks. They then clambered up a tunnel in the rock following the man's lamp and emerged onto smooth, trimmed grass right in full view of the enormous oak front door. They climbed up a short set of stone steps and crowded round the door. 

"No one missin'? Everyone still 'ere?" asked the giant and, raising one huge fist, knocked thrice on the castle door. 

They had arrived.


	5. The Sorting Ceremony

**CHAPTER FIVE  
_The Sorting Ceremony_**

  
The first-years barely had to wait two minutes before the door opened and they beheld a formidable looking witch dressed in black and emerald green robes with what looked like an eagle's feather in her pointed hat. 

"All the firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said the giant man. 

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here. You may go to the feast now, I shall see you there." 

The witch swung the door wider to let the first years in, Hagrid sidling in after them and climbing higher and higher up an intricately carved marble staircase until he was out of sight. 

The entrance hall was very spacious with such a high ceiling that you couldn't see it at all, and there were torches burning in brackets on the walls. Professor McGonagall led the group of first years across the left side of the marble floor and up the staircase that Hagrid had used until they reached a landing curving to the right. A smaller flight of stairs would take them through a wide stone archway, and into another room. 

Professor McGonagall stopped at the base of the second flight of stairs and faced the first years as they crowded around the landing, staring up at her uneasily. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she pronounced. "You will attend the start-of-year feast very soon, but before you take your places in the Great Hall you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting Ceremony is one of the most important and interesting held at Hogwarts. While you are here your house will be, to some extent, your family within the school." She peered sternly around at them all through her spectacles.  


"You will have classes with the appropriate year of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Each house possesses its own intriguing history and qualities and each has produced many excellent witches and wizards. I am Head of Gryffindor house.  


"As for rewards: knowledge, good behaviour, and any other accomplishments will earn you house points, and any disobedience will deduct house points. The gain and loss of house points will contribute to winning or losing the House Cup at the end of the school year.   


"If you are unsure about something, do not hesitate to inform your Head of House about it. I shall return for you in a couple of minutes and, in the meantime, please wait here quietly." And off she went up the stairs and through the stone archway. 

"Is everything she says supposed to sound like she's memorised it out of _Successful Speeches That Make An Impression_?" Neve asked Roisin, a smile curling at the corners of her mouth. 

Roisin snorted in return. "Do you have any idea about what we're supposed to do at the Sorting?" she whispered. 

"I think we're meant to try on a hat or something like that. At least, that's what it said in _Hogwarts, A History_," replied Neve. 

"You've actually read that thing? I'm still only up to the Foreword!" hissed Roisin. 

Neve didn't get a chance to reply because Professor McGonagall was back, clutching a scroll of parchment tightly in her hand. "Follow me please, and don't push," she said, steering them up the stairs, under the arch, and into a vast hall - one much bigger than Neve had ever seen. 

It was also the most magnificent room that she had ever set eyes on: all alit with candles that floated high up above the tables. Looking up, Neve saw an inky black ceiling spotted with glimmering stars and remembered reading in _Hogwarts, A History_ that it was bewitched to mirror the sky outside the castle. Walking forward with her face tilted up, Neve thought it hard to believe that there was a ceiling at all. 

The rest of the school was already assembled; the students sitting at their house tables and the teachers seated behind a long table at the end of the hall. Professor McGonagall led them down a set of stairs, through the aisle separating the four house tables, and right up to the dais in front of the teacher's seating place.   


A four-legged stool held a patched and absolutely filthy wizard's hat on it. Quite suddenly, a tear like a mouth opened near the brim and the hat began to sing in a voice that projected loudly throughout the silent hall: 

  


"The very longest time ago,  
With sky above and earth below,  
Four wizards great in potency  
Took in their hands a liberty.  
They built this castle far away,  
Where knowledge grew and power lay,  
Where secrets dwelt among the greens  
And magical schemes could not be seen.  
A house was made for each of the founders four,  
To distinguish who you really were at your core,  
And guide you to your chosen course  
Until you've gone back to your source.  
The chivalrous, all brave and bold,  
Are Gryffindors in red and gold;  
The scholarly and wise as lore,  
Will take their place in Ravenclaw;  
The hard-working and the patient fellows,  
Are due in Hufflepuff, black and yellow;  
But the ambitious, cunning, and their kin  
Best belong in Slytherin.  
So never fear, there's a place for you,  
I'm never wrong, my words are true,  
Just let me poke around in your mind,  
And I will sort you with your kind."  


  
The Great Hall rang with applause when the hat finished singing. It bowed to each of the four house tables and resumed its still position on the stool, looking quite unremarkable. 

Neve smiled to herself. So the hat _did_ sort them into their houses, just like _Hogwarts, A History_ had said. Then she began to feel a little nervous. What if it didn't put her in Slytherin? What if (unthinkable horror!) it put her in Hufflepuff? She remembered how Mr Coulden had once said that Hufflepuff house was the one for cowardly dull-witted fools, and Neve didn't think she could bear it if she were put there. But, then again, why should she be placed into Hufflepuff? Yes, she had patience, but she never really had to work hard to succeed. She simply took her talents and successes for granted. 

But what if the hat decided she was a Gryffindor? Her father was most outspoken against that house, and if he didn't hate Neve already, then he definitely would do so if she became a Gryffindor.   


The only other house left was Ravenclaw, which Neve didn't think sounded bad, but it would be much safer for her to become a Slytherin than anything else. _ Well, I'll find out soon enough_, she thought. _ I'm one of the very first on the list if it goes alphabetically._

Professor McGonagall turned to the students, unrolled the scroll of parchment she had been holding, and said, "When I read out your name, you will please sit on the stool, put on the hat, and wait until it proclaims your house. Abbott, Hannah!" 

A chubby girl with blonde pig-tails and a rubicund face staggered out of the throng of first years, put the hat on her head, and sat on the stool. Neve counted the seconds: _one, two, three, four, five -_

"HUFFLEPUFF!" yelled out the hat, and Hannah Abbott skipped off to sit at the Hufflepuff table, which was cheering loudly. 

"Bones, Susan!" 

A dazed-looking girl with sleepy eyes, a long face, and limp auburn hair dragged her feet to the stool and again Neve counted the seconds: _one, two, three _... 

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat. 

"Going to be big competition for the Ravenclaws, that one. Dear me, she looks like she'd lose a battle of wits with a stuffed pigeon!" Roisin whispered to Neve. 

"Boot, Terry!" 

_One, two, three, four ..._

"RAVENCLAW!" 

The table next to the Hufflepuffs cheered loudly as the gangly black-haired Terry strutted off to join the rest of his house members. A few older students stood up to shake his hand. Evidently, Terry Boot came from a distinguished family. 

"Brocklehurst, Mandy!" 

_One, two, three, four, five, six ..._

"RAVENCLAW!" 

"Brown, Lavender!" 

A pretty girl, who seemed to have an elaborate blonde confection on her head rather than hair, put on the Hat and waited. 

_One, two, three, four..._

"GRYFFINDOR!" 

The table on the left erupted with cheers, whistles, and catcalling from quite a few older boys as Lavender pranced over to the Gryffindor table. 

"Bulstrode, Millicent!" 

If Neve was right in reckoning that Millicent was the last of the B's, then she would be coming up and trying on the Hat any moment. 

(_One, two, three _...) 

"SLYTHERIN!" 

"Now _she_ would be a very valuable ally for when we can't use our wands on our enemies," said Roisin. "Think we can bribe her with two dozen, real-size, chocolate trolls? Or should we opt for a more lasting approach and get her the real specimen instead? By the looks of her, it'd be a perfect match." 

But Neve didn't get to reply because at that moment, her name was called out, and in observing the Slytherin table she had almost forgotten that she was likely to be sorted next. 

"Go on," whispered Roisin 

So Neve walked out of the first year crowd towards the stool and hat; her head held high, her eyes stonily grim. She put the Hat on her head and sat on the stool, nervously waiting. Neve began counting; the hat was silent for a second, two seconds, three seconds, four seconds ...   


She began to panic, thinking that perhaps she was not magical enough to attend Hogwarts, and that she had made a mistake in coming here. How shameful it would be if she sat with the Hat on her head for a whole hour, only to hear Professor McGonagall announce that she was obviously not meant for Hogwarts! 

Then, she heard a small voice speaking in her ear. "Don't fret, the Hogwarts Quill never makes a mistake! Because here you are ... Neve Coulden. And how very interesting ... and difficult. Excellent mind, I see. All that thirst for knowledge would be good in Ravenclaw ... but you have so much ambition and cunning ... and courage! Gryffindor would suit you ... yet to a certain degree ... no, you have more potential in being a Slytherin, for you have much of it in you, oh yes, very much ... but what do you think?" 

Neve immediately began to think, "Not Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. Not Hufflepuff or Gryffindor." 

The Hat chuckled. "Hufflepuff! Oh no, you would not suit Hufflepuff well. And if you're not for Gryffindor, there's only one house that will suit you best ... SLYTHERIN!" 

Neve heard the Hat announce the last word to the rest of the hall and, taking it off her head, walked over to the Slytherin table with relief. She suddenly noticed that she was getting quite a good bit of cheering from the Slytherins, and even Roisin, who was still in the crowd of first years waiting to be sorted, was yelling out, "Go Neve! Knew you had it in you!" but quailed as Professor McGonagall's stern gaze was sent in her direction. 

But Neve had also noticed that one of the older Slytherin girls was giving her a look of disbelief mingled with contempt; she had dark blonde ringleted hair and very cold blue eyes. She was sitting five seats away from Millicent Bulstrode, and was the only one at the Slytherin table not applauding Neve as the hat pronounced her house. And, as Neve sat down opposite Millicent, the girl's mouth curved into a derisive smile which Neve knew very well because she had seen it on Mrs Malfoy's face not a few times.

But the girl couldn't be a daughter of the Malfoys; Neve knew that they only had one child and that was Draco, but she couldn't help but acknowledge the resemblance between Narcissa Malfoy and this girl. To keep herself from slapping her, Neve turned her eyes back to the sorting where Hermione Granger was sitting on the stool with the Hat on her head. 

"GRYFFINDOR!" exclaimed the Sorting Hat. 

Neve smirked as Hermione proudly walked over to sit at the Gryffindor table. 

Later on, there was, "Longbottom, Neville!" 

Neve chortled as Neville tripped on his robes before finally sitting on the stool, with the Sorting Hat jammed on his head, for about five minutes. And when the Hat had finally called out his house ("GRYFFINDOR!"), Neville trotted off with it still on his head. He ran back, red as a beetroot, and gave it to "MacDougal, Morag!" amid peals of laughter. 

After Morag MacDougal, a boy with flaxen curly locks and mischievous brown eyes, came to sit at the Slytherin table, Neve realised that it was Roisin's turn and fixed her eyes intently on her friend. 

_One, two, three, four ..._

"SLYTHERIN!" 

Grinning broadly, Roisin whipped the Hat off her head and made her way to the Slytherin table. "Well, we made it!" she said to Neve, as she sat down beside her. 

"Good thing, too. It'd be a shame to have my life end just when it's only beginning," sighed Neve. 

Then she suddenly spun around in her seat when she heard, "Malfoy, Draco!" 

The silver-blonde haired boy who was the said Draco Malfoy swaggered out of the now much smaller group of first years to the four-legged stool, and put the Hat on his head. Barely two seconds had passed before it cried out, "SLYTHERIN!" and Malfoy sat next to Morag MacDougal. 

He caught Neve's eye and his eyebrows contracted slightly. He seemed to barely recognise her but, after all, they hadn't seen each other for four years. But then he smiled malevolently and called across the table, "Didn't think I'd see you at this table, Neve. I'd always thought you'd be one of those _perfect_ goody-good Gryffindors." 

"What with you not even showing signs of magic at nine years of age, _ Malfoy_, I'd have thought you wouldn't even make it to Hogwarts!" she sneered, putting special emphasis on his name. 

Draco's eyes narrowed and a tinge of pink appeared on his cheeks. "Where did you get that from?" 

"I have ears, you know," said Neve, and turned away. For a second, she felt a twinge of guilt at making a come-back like that; after all, she had only started developing magical skills when she was nine, too. But she immediately put the thought right out of her head - no way was she going to apologise to Malfoy. 

"You know Malfoy?" whispered Roisin. 

"His family lives about seven hours away from us, and they're very friendly with my parents," explained Neve. 

"Oh you poor thing," sighed Roisin, giving Neve a pitying glance. "Now you're going to have to put up with it for the whole year!" 

Neve shrugged submissively. "I can do that. I mean, if I've survived living with my parents for eleven years then I can definitely put up with that git." 

She and Roisin both clapped when a friendly-looking boy by the name of Theodore Nott, who had dark blonde hair that looked very much like the hair of the girl who hadn't cheered for Neve, sat down on the other side of Draco Malfoy.   


Theodore and the girl couldn't have made more an emotional contrast to each other, however; the girl had a definite gleam of malice in her eyes and her laugh rattled Neve's nerves. Theodore had no such effect on Neve. His face was as pale and pointed as Draco's, but Theodore had a certain amiability sketched all over it that Draco didn't have. 

As the sorting continued, Pansy Parkinson, the girl who had screamed when she saw Neville's toad, sat down next to Theodore, giving Neve and Roisin imperious stares. Roisin groaned. "And she's going to be sleeping in our dormitory? Save us!" 

But then a name was called that made the entire hall break into whispers and muttering. "Potter, Harry!" 

Neve stared as a small boy with jet-black hair and round glasses stepped forward and walked to the Hat, which fell right over his eyes as he put it on. 

"Harry Potter, is it?" asked Roisin curiously, rising half-way in her seat to get a look at him. "Looks like any normal boy." 

"Well, what do you expect him to look like? Albus Dumbledore?" snapped Neve, pulling her back down onto her seat. 

"I was only commenting. He's supposed to be a great hero and everything, and heroes are supposed to look like powerful and mysterious warriors," mumbled Roisin. "This one looks like he couldn't kill a fly!" 

"Well, you never know what could be hidden behind that traumatised little mask of his. He's in the right house for suicidal tendencies, however!" Neve added, as Harry walked over to the Gryffindor table, barely realising that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. 

The red-headed third-year Weasley twins, Fred and George, were yelling, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" and a few of the older Slytherins were glaring at the Gryffindor table and sullenly muttering under their breath. 

When the cheering had finally subsided, a pair of twin girls were sorted in their appropriate houses - one in Ravenclaw and the other in Gryffindor - but both of them with the same kind of thick ringlets that many other girls had on various tables. "I thought the hairstyles of the fifties went out of style with their wearers!" exclaimed Roisin in disgust. "Ugh! Tell me, what happened to all the Punk Rock witches?" 

"They were all sorted into Slytherin," said Neve, nodding at a third year girl sitting a few seats away from Millicent Bulstrode, with vivid green and black striped hair that matched the Slytherin badge on her robes. 

A smile spread slowly across Roisin's mouth. "Hey ... that's Patrin! How in hell did she ever persuade the Rosiers to let her do that? Cool!" she breathed enviously. She caught Patrin's eye and waved energetically. Patrin waved back, grinning. But Roisin didn't get to ask her about the hair yet because Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, stood up as the sorting had ended with "Zabini, Blaise!" becoming a Slytherin. 

He was very tall and wiry-looking, had an extraordinarily long silver beard just like his hair, and half-moon glasses perched on his long, crooked nose. He opened his arms wide and smiled around at them all, as though he was thanking them for providing him with a wonderful treat. 

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to students, teachers, and ghosts for a new school year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our marvellous feast, there are just a few words I would like to say. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" 

There was a general sound of laughter and applause but Neve could see a few Slytherins shaking their heads dejectedly. 

"And now, my dear friends, let our banquet begin!" added Dumbledore, beaming around the hall. 

And, as Neve turned back to the table, the golden platters had become loaded with food; the silver jugs full to the brim with pumpkin juice; the baskets of bread rolls overflowing. And there was the wide variety of food: roast pork, roast beef, roast chicken, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, sausages, bacon and steak, chips, salads, peas, carrots, fried onions, sweet potatoes, gravy, ketchup, mayonnaise, soups made of everything that was edible, Yorkshire pudding, and also mint humbugs. (Neve supposed were to be eaten at the end to cleanse the palette or something of the aristocratic sort. 

So, deciding to start with something light, she helped herself to some tomato soup and began eating. Beside her, Roisin had piled her golden plate with pieces of beef, chicken, pork, various salads, and a whole heap of chips which were swimming in pools of gravy and ketchup. But no matter how much she put on her plate, there was always room for more. The plates magically expanded if they felt there wasn't enough room for the food so it wouldn't all fall off.   


Neve, of course, was very hungry and finished her bowl of soup in no time, but she was amazed to see that, by the time she had finished it, Roisin was heaping more meat, potatoes, and salads onto her plate and pouring gravy over the whole lot. 

Roisin noticed her staring and laughed. "I know I look piggish eating all this but really, how many times do you get a feast like this at home? So I'm making the most of it while it lasts," she explained, twirling her fork around. "By the way, you should get some bread rolls with that soup; it makes it more enjoyable." 

"What are you, the Cook of the Century?" teased Neve but, nevertheless, she searched around the table for a basket of bread rolls. 

The closest one turned out to be almost at the very end of the table, where Pansy Parkinson was sitting. "Oi, Pansy! Pass the rolls, please!" Neve called down the table. 

Pansy gave her a withering look and said, "Come and get them yourself, _Neve_." 

But Neve was beginning to feel sick of the pug-faced Pansy and her curls so, abandoning patience, she reached her hand out to the rolls and focused very hard on them, willing one to come to her. And suddenly, a crusty golden roll was slowly floating up from the basket, and then zoomed straight into Neve's hand. 

Pansy's mouth fell open; half the table had stopped eating and watched Neve as she summoned the roll, with a smug look on her face. She knew it would happen; she did the very same thing during a dinner with her parents, and it was the first sign of magic she'd shown. Even Draco Malfoy looked slightly impressed at this performance. 

"Wow, Neve! You can already do Psyche Summoning? You must be one hell of a genius!" said Roisin, astounded. 

"Actually it was the first magical thing I did when I was still at home. I couldn't be bothered getting up out of my seat so I just willed in my mind for a roll to come to me, and here it is! I don't think Pansy's too pleased though," Neve replied, feeling the jealous stares of the said girl. 

"Well of course she wouldn't be! I mean, if you can do magic without a wand by now, there's no knowing what other cool stuff you can do." 

Neve shrugged. She thought Roisin was taking this way too excitedly , and Neve wasn't the type to brag about her achievements out of arrogance. So she decided to take Roisin's mind off the matter. 

"Roisin, do you know that dark blonde girl over there? The one with the ringlets?" asked Neve. 

To her surprise, Roisin's face darkened as she turned to glare at the blonde girl. "Arlene Avery, certified bitch. She's only in her third year but Patrin's told me she acts like she owns Hogwarts and everyone in it. Her father's a Death Eater, did you know? But he never got punished because he wormed his way out by saying that he was _bewitched_ ." She spat the last word with ferocity and her eyes narrowed as she watched Arlene throw back her head and laugh. 

"She never had to deal with her father getting locked up in Azkaban or being killed by an Auror. Julian Avery is still alive and very much out there. And you can't trust him or any of the Averys! Well, except for Asmin. She's the one to the left of Patrin, with the green and silver hair. They're best friends, you know, Patrin and Asmin. And I can't blame Pat; Asmin's nothing like the usual Averys. Oh, and Julian's wife, Moreian, runs a shop in Knockturn Alley." 

"Is that how they're keeping rich?" asked Neve. 

Roisin nodded. "They sell all this freaky Dark Arts stuff that's probably in the top one million on the Ministry of Magic's Illegal Items list. Apparently they make really good profit out of it; must be heaps of Dark witches and wizards around. Maybe we should start selling illegal stuff at Hogwarts ... " she trailed off, thoughtfully. "We could make a fortune as big as Malfoy's in just our first year here!" 

"Not a bad idea, but it'll be very hard to execute as non-Slytherin teachers will probably be watching our every move. However ..." Neve also trailed off, reflectively staring at the ceiling. "If we're discreet enough, we could get away with it ... so long as no members of the syndicate let their tongues wag." 

Both girls were suddenly distracted from their illegal plottings by the appearance of the puddings. This time the golden platters were hosts to apple pies, mountains of ice-cream in every flavour, treacle and fruit tarts, jam doughnuts, chocolate éclairs, rice pudding, trifle, jelly, chocolate mud cake, chocolate and caramel sauce, many different pasties and flans, and, every couple of metres, there was a bowl stacked with fruit. 

As soon as Neve spotted the chocolate mud cake behind a bowl of fruit to her right her mouth began to water and she felt the familiar desire for the delicious-looking dessert. She asked Roisin to pass her the platter and deftly placed two large slices onto her plate and began to consume them slowly, savouring the truly magical taste. 

"Finally you're eating as much as I am," said Roisin in relief, pouring hot caramel sauce over her blueberry ice cream. "But even I have to ask, why so much chocolate?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you that I have the world's worst addiction to chocolate. It's one of my biggest vices - maybe even _the_ biggest - and I just couldn't live without it!" Neve declared with extraordinary passion that Roisin never imagined she'd see. 

"All that enthusiasm for chocolate?" she inquired, fascinated. "What about all the other great food, like roast lamb, for starters?"

Neve shuddered. "I hate lamb. And pork. And beef. Well, beef isn't so bad as the other two, but chicken is just about the only meat that I can eat happily."

"Why? You don't feel sorry for the poor ickle chickens?" sniggered Roisin.

"No, I just like chicken the best," replied Neve patiently. "I don't have to like everything that you or anyone else likes, do I?"

"But it's good meat going to waste!" protested Roisin. "And everyone likes chocolate!"

"Ah, but they don't like chocolate in the same way as I do," answered Neve mystically. "Chocolate is a form of art meant to be enjoyed with not only the taste buds, but with the mind and the soul. Eating chocolate is a truly fantastic experience, but everyone else just ruins it by being total hogs!"

"And you're not one?" Roisin eyed Neve's plate, which had a couple of brown crumbs left on it.

"That's not the point! I took so much because I love chocolate and I don't get much of it at home. I meant that people _eat_ it like hogs; they don't enjoy the moment for what it is. That's the difference between me and the rest of the world's chocolate lovers."

Roisin stared at her, bewildered and amused, and shook her head as Neve helped herself to a couple of chocolate éclairs. "Well, you can go ahead and enjoy this 'art' you see in chocolate, but I think I'll stay with the simple way and just _eat_ chocolate like any other simple human being."

"I'm not asking you to change."

"And that's one of the many things I like about you. Even if you are a bit odd in your eating habits."

And the two girls continued eating, each in their own way, and listening in to the various conversations going on around them.

On one side of Draco Malfoy sat the Bloody Baron - a haughty, disagreeable-looking ghost who had silver bloodstains all over his robes. At this moment, he had a smile on his mouth that didn't reach his eyes and was saying in a heavy accent, "Yes, Slyzerin hez been vinning ze House Cup for six years in a row! Ond it vould be very terrible ond shame_fool_, if Slyzerin lost it for ze first time in six years. So mek sure zat you don't let us down, eh?" 

A little further up the table, a fifth-year boy with a trollish look of cunning on his face was discussing Quidditch, the wizarding sport, with the dark-haired third-year boy next to him. "We're sure to win the Quidditch Cup again this year, Montague. The Gryffindors haven't had a decent team since that Charlie Weasley left, and the Huffs and Ravens don't stand a chance!" 

"This year, maybe, but now they've got that Potter, and he could easily get on the team next year, Marcus. And I've heard that his father was a brilliant Chaser!" whined Montague. 

"Well Potter or no Potter, we're going to win this year, and if Higgs gets smug next year ... well, you know what'll happen," sneered Marcus. 

Just then, the puddings vanished and Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat again. He waited until the noise had subsided before beginning. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I have some notices that I would like to give you. The forest in the Hogwarts grounds is, of course, forbidden to all students, so if you do not wish to receive punishment please avoid that area. Also, no magic is to be used in the corridors of this castle between lessons as Mr Filch, our caretaker, was kind enough to remind me of.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term, so if anyone would like to play for their house team this year you should contact Madam Hooch. And lastly, I would like to impose upon you the very severe pain you will endure if you should enter the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side this year. You have been warned, so act as you may." 

Neve and Roisin exchanged intrigued looks at this statement. "Can't be anything worse than Arlene Avery with two extra heads," Roisin said confidently. "Let's go check it out this weekend, shall we?" 

"Are you sure you didn't bribe the Sorting Hat to sort you into Slytherin?" inquired Neve suspiciously. "That I-love-danger attitude of yours is frighteningly Gryffindor, you know." 

"Nah. It's just a love of adventure and a big amount of self-confidence," shrugged Roisin. 

"And now, before we hurry off to bed, let us sing the old school song!" Dumbledore exclaimed, and flicked his wand so that a long golden ribbon shot out of it, floated towards the ceiling, and formed itself into shimmering words. "Pick a favourite tune, and off we go!" 

  


"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,  
Teach us something please,  
Whether we be old and bald  
Or young with scabby knees,  
Our heads could do with filling  
With some interesting stuff,  
For now they're bare and full of air,  
Dead flied and bits of fluff,  
So teach us things worth knowing,  
Bring back what we've forgot,  
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,  
And learn 'til our brains all rot." 

  
Neve thought it sounded awful and very inharmonious. The general multitude of voices sounded like drunken sailors and everyone finished at different times. Neve observed that many Slytherins hadn't joined in singing, and certainly not in applauding the ones who did. She and Roisin were one of the very few at their table who had, and they did it purely out of humour and fun. Obviously, many Slytherins didn't think much of Dumbledore and his ways.   


But Neve couldn't help liking him, though in a grudging sort of way, just like she couldn't help herself liking Mr Ollivander, although her affection for Dumbledore surpassed that for the old wand-maker. This was, perhaps, because Dumbledore seemed to radiate kindness, understanding, and amiability from the very blueness of his eyes. 

"Ah, music, a magic beyond anything we do here. But now it's off to bed with you! Prefects, please escort the first years of your houses to the common-rooms!" said Dumbledore. 

As the older Slytherins began getting up from their seats and making for the common room, Marcus Flint stood up and barked to the first years, "Right you lot, follow me! And you'd better not get lost 'cause I'm not going to go find you." 

All the first years trudged behind him as he led them out of the Great Hall, down a staircase on their right, and down again. The further down they went, the dryer it became, to Neve's surprise. She supposed the torches burning merrily in bronze brackets on the now black stone walls kept the cold and mould out.   


They were definitely in the dungeons of the castle, but they weren't as bad as Neve thought they would be. In fact it was more or less like the upstairs corridors, just not so bright. Here, too, there were moving paintings on the walls, and statues of people Neve had never seen in any book before lining them. 

After a few more minutes of undisturbed walking, Flint finally stopped in front of a bare stretch of stone wall. It looked extremely unremarkable to Neve but, when Flint said "Serpentine", the wall slid open to reveal a small sort of landing with stairs leading down into the Slytherin common-room: a spacious, lavishly decorated room with dark mahogany tables and soft leather armchairs and sofas. 

Green lamps burned from their places on the walls and one large ornamented one dangled from the ceiling. Beautiful tapestries hung from the walls, many of which had pictures of snakes on them, and a magnificent carved fireplace on the left was home to a roaring fire.   


All in all, it looked like a comfortable room not devoid of elegance and refinement and, to Neve's great pleasure, there was no mustiness in the air or mildew on any of the furniture or decorations. 

"Well, this is the Slyth common room. Girls' dormitories to the left, boys' to the right," directed Flint, before hurrying through the door on the right and out of sight. The first year boys also filed through the door into their dormitory, and the girls through a door on their left into theirs. 

The first year dormitory for the girls was decorated very much like the common room and it also had a fire quietly crackling away, though much smaller. The five four-poster beds were hung with emerald green velvet curtains and a chest of drawers stood beside every girl's bed. Their trunks had already been brought in, each standing in front of their owner's bed.   


Neve and Roisin immediately fell into their beds, which turned out to be very comfortable and warm. Unfortunately, though, they could hear Pansy Parkinson and her new friend, Blaise Zabini, as they whispered while putting their hair into magical curlers that you wouldn't feel when you went to bed. 

Neve was slightly surprised to find that Pansy had taken to Blaise, because she had thought that Pansy would like to be friends with girls more like herself - controlling and snobby. Blaise Zabini was very much the opposite, as far as Neve could tell.   


Although she had the same thick shoulder-length curls that Pansy had, but of a slightly lighter colour and more soft-looking, she also possessed enchanting emerald eyes, a delicate nose and mouth, and a plump rosy face. She had smiled shyly at Neve when she Summoned the bread roll at the feast, and Neve couldn't help smiling back when Pansy wasn't looking. 

Perhaps Blaise wasn't as docile and timid as she looked, and actually had a fiery passionate spirit tucked away behind her sweet little girl exterior, and Neve hoped so. Otherwise the poor girl would end up as Pansy's slave for the rest of her pretty little existence, and it would be shame to waste such loveliness that way. 

At last, after about a quarter of an hour, Pansy and Blaise turned off the lamps, and all was finally quiet in the girls' dormitory.


	6. The Six Lessons

**CHAPTER SIX  
_The Six Lessons_**

  
At precisely half past seven the next morning, Neve awoke to the yells of her alarm-clock ("Wake-up, you filthy traitor!"), which she had reluctantly put in her trunk only after Mrs Coulden insisted on it. Everyone else still seemed to be sleeping but, as the clock gave a particularly loud screech, a cry issued from Pansy Parkinson's four-poster bed. 

Blaise Zabini pulled back her velvet hangings, sleepy-eyed and pale, with her hair still in the magical rollers and looking as if she'd only just put them on. "What's going on?" she asked hoarsely. 

"Yeah, who's fighting? Can I join in?" demanded Roisin, with her dishevelled auburn locks sticking up at odd angles as she tore back her own hangings. 

"It's only my alarm-clock, but I think it frightened Pansy," explained Neve and turned to the clock, _7:32_ on its face in a beautiful magenta. "Be quiet, you! Or I'll send you back home." 

"Of course it gave me a fright! I'm trying to sleep here and all of a sudden, I hear this squeaky yelling and now, thanks to your clock, I can't go to sleep again!" snapped Pansy from her bed. 

"Well, sorry that I interrupted your desperately essential beauty sleep, but we've all got to get up now, anyway. We've got lessons starting at nine," said Neve, slipping out of her own bed and getting her uniform out of her trunk. 

Everyone else groaned - that is, everyone else except Millicent Bulstrode who was still fast asleep.   


"Oi, Millicent! " cried Roisin, walking over to the girl's bed. When she didn't respond, Roisin pulled back the hangings and prodded her in the arm. She still didn't wake, so Roisin took a deep breath and shouted, "WAKE UP!" right in Millicent's ear.  


To everyone's surprise, Millicent didn't jump up or scream or anything of the sort; she merely twitched and carried on sleeping. 

"Here, use this," Neve said to Roisin, passing her a pillow, and Roisin began to pummel Millicent with it. After a few seconds of doing so, the girls heard a low rough growl of, "Stop that! I'm sleeping!" 

"Not anymore, Bulstrode. We've got class at nine o'clock!" said Roisin, giving Millicent one last beating with the pillow. 

Neve, already dressed in her Hogwarts skirt and shirt, began pulling her grey socks onto her slowly numbing feet. "I wish we had a window," she muttered crossly. "Why do we get stuck in a dungeon while the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws get towers? Even the Hufflepuffs get windows and they're on the ground floor!"  


Pansy looked at her as if she was a particularly frightening banshee. "Neve, it's bloody cold outside! If we had a window and you opened it, we'd all be frozen by now! The fire's died, if you hadn't noticed." 

Attempting and succeeding in keeping her anger inside, Neve tore her eyes away from the soft dark carpet, and said, "Well then hurry up and get dressed! Breakfast starts at eight, so you've got twenty minutes," and padded to her trunk, taking out her jersey, robes, cloak and shoes. 

At last, when the antique grandfather clock in the common room struck eight, Neve and Roisin arrived at the Great Hall. Along the way, they had taken two wrong turns, got stuck in a trick staircase, and fell forwards onto the shiny parquet. (Peeves the Poltergeist had caused the latter, pulling the rug they were walking on from under their feet, and only discontinued his pestering when Neve pulled out her wand and wrapped him up into a rug.)

So, angry and sore, they were very glad to finally enter the Great Hall and begin breakfast at the Slytherin table. The first meal of the day at Hogwarts was no worse than the feast from the night before, but this time the golden bowls and platters held stacks of toast, cornflakes, bacon and eggs, sausages, assorted muffins and cakes, ham or chicken sandwiches, various jams and spreads and different kinds of fruit.

Neve and Roisin were about to sit down near the end of the Slytherin table when they heard their names being called and turned to see Patrin Rosier grinning and beckoning them to join her. When Neve and Roisin reached her, Patrin immediately introduced herself and the girl beside her who, as they had thought, turned out to be Asmin Avery.   


Patrin and Asmin were easily the two most noticeable girls in the room because of their bright Slytherin-coloured hair. They were also the most friendly-looking girls on the Slytherin table, both with roseate complexions and mischievous blue eyes. 

As soon as they had sat down next to Patrin, Roisin began to gush forth her admiration. "It's brilliant, Pat! _How_ did the Rosiers ever let you, not to mention old McGonagall? I thought she'd probably make you wash it all out before you went to bed!" 

Patrin laughed, her blue eyes twinkling with merriment. "Professor Snape practically told her to piss off when she started badgering us about it. He said that it's good to see students who display pride in their house and even gave us a point each, so we got off scot free! As for my grandparents ... well, let's just say that Gran gave birth to a few kittens and she's doing fine now."   


"Arlene screamed to high heaven when she saw that I did it, but I won that fight. My parents actually encouraged me!" said Asmin.  


Just at that moment, Professor Snape came walking along the table, handing out the time-tables, and their conversation was interrupted.   


On Mondays the Slytherin first-years had Herbology with the Ravenclaw first-years in Greenhouse One right after breakfast, then it was back up to the castle for Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. After break, it was Charms with Professor Flitwick and History of Magic with Professor Binns. Then, after lunch, Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell and Potions with Professor Snape.   


"Bloody hell! Not double Transfiguration!" wailed Patrin, looking at her own third year time-table. "McGonagall will probably want to pick on us again for dying our hair!"   


"And I haven't finished my homework! I meant to do the rest of it last night, but I was so full from eating that I just had to get to bed! Oh damn it, I'll probably get a detention!" said Asmin angrily.   


Then a bell echoed throughout the hall, and people began getting up from the tables, hurrying off to their first lesson. Patrin took her Transfiguration homework from her bag and handed it to Asmin, who began scribbling frantically on her own piece of parchment, which was already a foot long.   


"Have fun, you two," said Patrin, as Neve and Roisin got up and slung their bags over the shoulders.   


"Yeah, see you later!" said Asmin, not tearing her eyes away from the parchment, her writing getting more untidy by the second.   


Neve and Roisin strode out of the Great Hall, into the grounds (now properly dry and warm), and across the grass to the greenhouses where Professor Sprout, a squat, cheerful-looking witch with short grey hair, stood in earth-covered robes, waiting for them.   


When all the Slytherins and Ravenclaws had grouped around her she said, "Welcome to your first Herbology lesson. This year we will be working in Greenhouse One. It contains the less dangerous plants, though they are also some of the most useful and interesting ones. During Herbology lessons you will be doing a lot of practical work. Homework and assignments will be set, of course, and are expected to be done by the due date.   


"Be careful how you treat the plants because some of them are very fragile and rare, and I do recommend that you always listen to what I am saying as it will prove to be valuable, Mr Malfoy."   


The whole class stared at Draco Malfoy, who had been talking to his friends - Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle - seemingly not taking in anything of what Professor Sprout had been saying. But all who thought so were proved wrong as Sprout asked, "Can you tell me what I was saying just now, Mr Malfoy?"   


"You recommend that we always listen to you because it will prove to be valuable," drawled Malfoy complacently.   


"And you had better remember it if you don't want to lose points for Slytherin," barked Sprout. "Now, before you go in, put on your Herbology cloaks so your uniform won't be sullied. Wear it every Herbology lesson, please."   


The class did as they were told as she opened the door to the greenhouse, waiting until everyone had filed in before stepping inside herself and closing the door behind her.  


Greenhouse One was a very large building with many different plants, some sporting flowers, others lush and green. The air was warm and stuffy and Neve began to feel quite hot in her uniform and Herbology cloak, as did the rest of the class by the looks on the faces and the gestures they made. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini looked ready to faint at any moment.   


Professor Sprout led them to the very back of the greenhouse and up to a dark corner where a cluster of twenty round pots stood, each with three vine-like seedlings about four inches in height and appearing to be made of rubber. "Can anyone guess what these plants are?" queried Sprout, looking round at the class.   


Neve also looked around and saw that five Ravenclaws and no Slytherins decided to answer the question. She decided to take the plunge herself, confident that she knew exactly what the plant was, as she'd often seen it growing in Mrs Coulden's garden. She raised her hand into the air and Professor Sprout turned to her. "I believe I _know_ what they are," said Neve. "Devil's Snare?"   


Sprout beamed at her and said, "Very good! Ten points to Slytherin. Indeed, they are specimens of the plant Devil's Snare, so called because of the creeping tendrils that will entwine themselves around an object and squeeze it to death. They are extremely strong and pliable, and it would take at least twenty cuts with the sharpest knife to sever any part of the plant from the stem.   


"But you can survive if you ever do come in contact with Devil's Snare. You see, it dries and shrinks in the light, so naturally it prefers darkness. What you would have to do should you ever be faced with it is conjure up a fire or bring it out into sunlight. It will then release you and draw back into the darkness. Any questions?"   


Nobody raised their hand or uttered a question so Professor Sprout continued. "You will be re-potting each of the seedlings into their own pot, as it is very unhealthy for them to share pots with each other when they are nearing five inches. We had cases in the past when they would entwine themselves around their own kind and choke each other mercilessly. We will continue doing this until all the seedlings have their own pot, which may take a while because they are not easy to re-pot.   


"Now, the pots are over there in that corner, soil and compost under those benches - make sure you don't spill any - and the tap is over by those red plants. Fill the pots half with compost first, put the seedling in, then cover the roots with soil right up to the top of the pot and give them all liberal amounts of water. When you've finished with each pot, place them back in the same corner and make sure none of them get into the light! Oh, and do try not to come in contact with the actual tendrils because they _will_ curl around your fingers and give you considerable pain; they're already very strong."   


And so they re-potted the Devil's Snare seedlings for an hour and a half. This turned out to be no mean feat as the whole class soon realised. Five minutes after they started, they heard a horrible yell. Malfoy's friend Crabbe had managed to let a seedling twist itself around his fingers, and was frantically waving his hand around, but to no avail - the seedling had a tight grip on his fingers and only squeezed them harder, which caused Crabbe to blanche and yell louder still.   


"Now now, Mr Crabbe! Don't wave it around so! Here, into the sunlight!" exclaimed Professor Sprout, dragging his huge hand to the sunny window.   


The plant slowly began to loosen its hold on Crabbe's fingers and draw away from the light that was pouring in through the window. Crabbe's yells soon subsided and the seedling fell to the floor when Sprout let go of his hand. She then expertly picked it up nearer to the roots, filled half a pot with compost and shoved the seedling into it, promptly covering the roots with damp black soil. "Here, boy. Give it some water, and hold it by the pot, not the plant!" she said, handing Crabbe the pot and moving away to observe the progress of other students.   


Twenty minutes later the Slytherins trudged across the lawn, tired and dirty, for a brisk wash up at the castle before heading off to Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall was already waiting for them behind her desk when they entered the classroom, looking stern and disapproving. When they had all taken their seats she called the register, giving each and every Slytherin a very sharp look. Then, when she finished, she stared around the room, letting the silence spiral on anxiously.  


"Transfiguration is one of the most difficult and hazardous types of magic taught at Hogwarts," she finally spoke. "If you are willing to learn it and do your best you will be rewarded for your efforts and I will have no reason to cause you trouble. If, however, you decide to mess around and be vexatious in my class after your third warning you will leave and not come back. I have warned you, so make your choice now."   


Then she turned the globe on her desk into a hedgehog and back again. But if the Slytherins were hoping to start changing objects into animals, they were strongly disappointed. After copying a lot of confusing notes from the blackboard, Professor McGonagall gave them all a matchstick and told them to turn it into a needle.   


"And the point of this, is?" grumbled Roisin, frowning, as she struggled to Transfigure her matchstick without success.   


"The point of this exercise, Miss MacKeve, is to acquaint you with the arduous work you will have to put into your Transfiguration studies and to give you an opportunity to see for yourself how capable you are of the magic at this moment in time," said Professor McGonagall sternly, making Roisin frown even more.   


At the end of the lesson, the only two people who had made any difference to their matchstick were Neve and Draco Malfoy. Professor McGonagall gave Neve another piercing stare and raised her eyebrows at Malfoy as though unable to believe that they had such abilities.   


When the Transfiguration lesson had ended, the Slytherin first-years all rushed out of the classroom, eager for break.   


"I hate Transfiguration!" Roisin grumbled when they were well out of ear-shot of McGonagall.  


"That was only the first lesson, you might get better after a while," said Neve bracingly.  


"Might? I _might_ get better?" Roisin spluttered. "Well, that's encouraging."  


Neve sighed in exasperation. "OK, I'm _sure_ you'll get better soon. You're bound to be better than even McGonagall herself! That suit?"  


But Roisin continued to frown darkly and stomp down the corridors.  


As soon as the bell rang for the end of break, she and Neve made for the Charms classroom, which was on the third floor. The only person inside it when they arrived was Professor Flitwick, who somewhat resembled the goblins in Gringotts bank. He had a wispy white beard, was dressed in elegantly embroidered robes, and was so tiny that he had to stand on a stack of books to see over his desk.   


When all the Slytherins had finally arrived and seated themselves he treated them to a brief welcome and proceeded to teach them how to bewitch their book _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade One_ so that, when they had finished reading a page, it would automatically turn to the next page by itself. This time, Neve and Malfoy were not the only students who succeeded in doing the task. Roisin made visible progress, along with Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson.   


"Oh very good! Five points to all those who succeeded!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, looking very surprised, as though he could hardly believe that Slytherins could be competent in magic.   


Neve understood that the way the teachers acted towards herself and her housemates was due to the general belief that all Slytherins were wholly evil and unskilled in everything but Dark Magic. Of course, Neve knew that this wasn't quite true because Slytherin house had also turned out wizards and witches who put their magic to good use, like Roisin's grandparents.   


But Neve made up her mind to exceed in every class so as to win the favour of the teachers and respect of her classmates from all four houses, though she was determined that she wouldn't be like Hermione Granger about the matter. (She was overly enthusiastic about it all and already quite unpopular with not only her own house, but Slytherin as well.) And anyway, it was not as though she wouldn't benefit from all the knowledge. She could get a good job at the end of her seventh year and become as rich as Mr and Mrs Coulden - perhaps even richer!  


Then the bell echoed through the classroom, signalling the end of the lesson, and the Slytherins dragged their feet to their first History of Magic lesson. It was still empty when they came in, but when they had all settled into their seats and began conversing with their friends, the teacher of the subject, Professor Binns, floated into the classroom through the blackboard. Indeed, he went straight through the wall and hovered above his desk, scowling at them all, for he was a ghost and the only one to teach a subject at Hogwarts.   


"Are you really Professor Binns?" questioned Morag MacDougal disbelievingly.   


Professor Binns gazed at him through his lowered eyelids and said in a gravelly voice like chalk on a blackboard, "I am, indeed, and may I ask what your name is?"   


"Well, you could, but then again, I could say 'no, you may not ask me what my name is' and you'd have to find it out from someone else," replied Morag cockily.   


Professor Binns frowned and said, "I will not tolerate impertinence in my classes. This is your first warning, Mr - ?"   


"MacDougal, Professor. And thanks so much for the warning, I'll make sure to forget it."   


Binns frowned at Morag some more, but then shook his head resignedly and took a book from his desk. "Because of the great events that have happened during this week and the following week in the past - "   


"What great events?" interrupted Roisin.   


Binns sighed impatiently, which sounded like a page being turned over, and said, "An exhibition of enchanted cauldrons made to be self-stirring, collapsible, and the like was held for two weeks, beginning from this very day and ending on next Sunday six hundred years ago, Miss, er - ?"   


"MacKeve, sir. And why is it really such a great event?"   


Professor Binns seemed to be on the verge of losing his patience entirely because he tutted loudly and elaborated, "Because significant progress was made in a never-before-practiced field, Miss MacDonald! In those times, cauldrons were very simple and practical with nothing unusual or inventive about them. Which brings me to the introduction of this topic, starting with the birth of the first wizard to successfully experiment with enchanting cauldrons."   


And he began reading from the extremely thick, heavy-looking tome he was holding (_A History of Magic_), so monotonously that the whole class stopped listening after the first five minutes. An hour and twenty-five minutes later, many of the Slytherin first years were yawning as they walked wearily to lunch in the Great Hall. The bell rang too soon again, forcing them to troop off to Defence Against The Dark Arts, where the very strange Professor Quirrell (who wore black robes with an odd purple turban, and had a very bad habit of stuttering) was already waiting for them.   


He looked positively terrified when the Slytherins entered his classroom. Neve suspected this was because of the evil reputation Slytherin house had with the rest of the school. As soon as they sat down, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini dropped their heads onto their arms and dozed off. But Professor Quirrell didn't seem to notice and, if he did, he was too afraid to rebuke them for it.   


"W - w - welcome t - to Def - f - fence Against th - the Dark Arts, S - S - Slytherin f - first years," he stammered out, gazing uncertainly at them all as though wondering whether he should teach them or not. "M - my n - n - name is P - Professor Quir - Quirrell."   


"Yeah, we already know that; it says so on our time-tables," said Theodore Nott, looking as though he'd burst into laughter at any moment.   


"D - does it n - now? W - well, n - n - now th - that you know m - my n - name, I th - think w - w - we can begin th - the lesson," mumbled Quirrell, looking more alarmed than enthusiastic about the thought. He seemed to be trying and failing to smile cheerfully at them, for which Neve didn't blame him; all the Slytherins were no longer under the soporific power of Binns' voice and were grinning maliciously at Quirrell - even Pansy and Blaise, who were sniggering and whispering to each other behind their hands. "P - p - please open y - your b - books to p - p - page f - five."   


The sounds of bags being opened and pages being turned filled the room for several seconds and silence ensued when the task was done. Quirrell then Transfigured a quill on his desk into a dull green chameleon. "As you c - can s - s - see, we w - will be s - studying chameleons. B - but who c - can tell m - me exactly what a ch - chameleon is?"   


The silence was broken by loud giggles from the direction of Pansy and Blaise. Neve thought that at the way they were going they wouldn't get any points at all from this class. Even Draco Malfoy, who had shown such potential in Charms and Transfiguration, didn't bother to answer, though Neve was sure that he knew what it was. So she did it herself.   


"A chameleon is a native lizard of Africa and Madagascar, and is able to change its skin colour to blend in with its surroundings so that predators won't notice it."   


Professor Quirrell jumped a foot into the air and massaged his chest looking quite panic-stricken. His eyes widened in apparent shock when he saw who had answered his question and he stared at Neve for a few seconds, wholly motionless and silent. After a while he seemed to regain the use of his voice and said, "Y - yes ... erm ... th - thank y - you, Miss - ?"   


"Coulden, Professor."   


"T - ten p - points to S - Slytherin. B - but n - next time y - you answer a q - question, p - p - please put your hand up. And n - now," he said, addressing the class. "P - Please t - take out your quills and write d - down some n - notes about the ch - chameleon as I list th - them."   


And, from that moment until the end of the lesson, they took notes of the magical properties of the chameleon and its habits as Professor Quirrell stuttered them out. But every time Quirrell looked at Neve she felt as though the insides of her mind were shivering in fright and rage, but she didn't know why he brought out that reaction from her.  


Perhaps he didn't like her more than the other Slytherins ... but what had she ever done to him? This was the first time she'd ever clapped eyes on him and here he was, laying prejudices already. She wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been anything but a Slytherin when he had gone to Hogwarts.   


The only lesson that the Slytherins were looking forward to that day was Potions because it involved being shut in a dungeon with the first-year Gryffindors and Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin house, who apparently was most unjust to any house other than his own. His shoulder-length greasy black hair, hooked nose and cold dark eyes made him appear much more imposing than any of the other teachers - Professor McGonagall being the exception, of course.  


Like most of the other teachers, Snape was already waiting for them when the class arrived and, again, like many of the other teachers, he took the register before he began the lesson. But, unlike other teachers, he paused at many of the Slytherin names to comment on the members of their families ("Ah, Mr Theodore Nott ... I trust your parents are well? Good friends of mine when we were all still in school"), though when he came to Neve's name he merely gave her an odd look, and the only Gryffindor who he commented on was Harry Potter and it was nicely said.   


"And of course, Harry Potter," he said mockingly. "The new celebrity of the school. Will you sign autographs for us first or pose for a photo, Potter?"   


Draco Malfoy turned around, grinning, to look at Harry, and Neve felt a twinge of pity for the Gryffindor; his face was burning red and she could just imagine the waves of rage emanating from him.   


When Snape finished with the register he looked around the class and the Gryffindors seemed to quail beneath his gaze, while the Slytherins expanded like flowers in sunshine. "In this class you will be taught about the subtle power of potion-making as well as the art itself," he said in his low quiet voice. "If you do not believe this is proper magic, then you are very mistaken and foolish, as you will later find out.   


"Just because there is none of the anticipated wand-waving here, it does not mean that potion-making is a magic of less potency. In fact, sometimes it can be much more cogent than any other brand of sorcery. And you will learn and understand this also; that is, if you possess the abilities to do so."   


Total silence followed this announcement. Draco Malfoy was now looking up at Snape with an expression of adoration on his face but Neve felt that she didn't like him very much. There was not a single speck of amiability in any aspect of him and he didn't even seem to want to be liked. Neve thought he certainly made no effort for it.   


Presently, the questioning began, and Harry Potter was the victim. "Potter, tell me what would I get if I combined powdered root of asphodel with an extract of wormwood?" asked Snape, glaring at the boy with his unfathomable eyes.   


Harry looked quite bewildered, but Hermione Granger had shot her hand up in the air and was practically bouncing up and down on her seat, an expression of utmost eagerness on her face.   


"I don't know, sir," was Harry's answer.   


"Well, well, well - fame doesn't necessarily bring knowledge does it, Potter?" sneered Snape. "All right. Where would you get it if I told you to find me a bezoar?"   


Again, Harry was completely at sea and Hermione stretched her hand even higher, whimpering with the effort.   


And, once again, "I don't know, sir," was Harry's response.   


Snape looked almost delighted, his eyes glittering maliciously. "Didn't think you needed those course books, did you, Potter?"   


Neve saw Harry's mouth form into a hard line as he stared determinedly back at Snape. Neve thought he was doing very well for a Gryffindor in this situation.   


But Snape's vindictive manner was not abandoned. "Tell me the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane."   


Hermione jumped off her seat and waved her hand in the air, clearly desperate to answer for Harry who said, "I don't know. But it seems that Hermione does, and she really wouldn't mind answering for me."   


A few people laughed but the sneer disappeared from Snape's face, only to be replaced by a cold, hard stare. He snapped at Hermione to sit down and informed Harry of the correct answers to his questions. The rest of the class fished in their bags for parchment, ink and quills - all except Neve and Draco Malfoy. She turned her head to the front where he was sitting and saw that he was looking at her with a sort of appraising expression on his face; his cold grey eyes held a glimmer of mild curiosity and it seemed he was trying not to smile.   


Then, Neve heard Professor Snape saying something to her and tore her eyes away from Malfoy. "Miss Coulden, may I ask why you are not following your classmates' examples and writing down the information I have just said?"   


"Because I could have told you what Hermione Granger was dying to say and even more. I can tell you that the aconite plant can also be used in many poisons and potions with unpleasant effects, such as the Tumor Venenum - the poison that makes the drinker grow a deadly tumour - and of course, the Draught of Living Death. I can also tell you that a bezoar is ruby-red and very hard, and that it is very difficult to get out of the goat's stomach because of its adhesive lining which dissolves when used in a potion," Neve reeled off loudly and somewhat loftily.   


She could feel every eye in the room fastened on her, the whole class with expressions of amazement on their faces; everyone's, that is, except Malfoy's, who looked oddly amused. Snape was now giving her a shrewd and calculating look though not at all as if he was angry. After a few minutes of scrutinising her physiognomy, his mouth seemed to curl into a smirk and said, "Very good to know that some people are taking their school work seriously and finding the time to accumulate more knowledge. Ten points to Slytherin. And Potter," he called to the very back of the room, "a point will be taken from Gryffindor for your insolence."   


Every Gryffindor gaped first at Snape then at Neve, shocked and speechless; the Slytherins, however, were grinning broadly as though each and every one of them had just earned ten points. Neve settled herself smugly into her seat and watched as Roisin scribbled away on her parchment. She heard Snape speaking to Malfoy and turned her head to look at them.   


"If you provide me with a legitimate excuse, Mr Malfoy, I will not question your inactivity. It would be even better if you displayed your store of knowledge, like Miss Coulden just did, and possibly earn your house some points."   


Malfoy raised a silvery eyebrow and very lazily, as if he could hardly be bothered to open his mouth, listed some of the chemical properties of aconite to the whole class.   


Snape smirked again and said loudly, "Another ten points to Slytherin. Well, well, well ... here is proof that sapience really does pay off. I'm hoping that both you, Miss Coulden, and you, Mr Malfoy, will continue to grace us with your wisdom in the following classes." And, after gracing Neve and Malfoy with what could have been a smile, he swept off to the blackboard and began to write the ingredients for a simple potion that cured boils.   


Neve glanced at Malfoy and a smirk carved itself around his mouth, but Neve was impassive. She was slightly surprised about the fact that Malfoy was quite a competent and clever wizard, but she wouldn't show it for the world; he was supposed to be her enemy, just like his parents, and she couldn't allow herself to feel anything but hate and indifference towards him.   


She focused instead on cutting up her belladonna and daisy roots. Roisin was skinning some horned slugs next to her. When she'd finished slicing the roots, Neve tipped them into her bubbling cauldron of dandelion milk and stirred slowly. Further along, Professor Snape was commenting on the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when a loud hissing filled the dungeon.   


Neve turned to her left and saw an acid green liquid seeping across the floor towards her, burning holes in people's shoes. She noticed that the cauldron at which Neville Longbottom and another Gryffindor boy, Seamus Finnigan, had been working at was now a black, twisted blob and that Neville had furry green boils popping up all over his face. Half the class was standing up on their desks, some with fearful expressions on their faces, others amused.   


Snape strode over and cleared the spilled potion away with a wave of his wand, and turned to Neve and Malfoy in turn, saying, "You won't mind, if I put you two in charge of repairing the apparel of those who have been in contact with the potion, would you? I believe you will be more than suitable for this as I'm sure you know the necessary spell-work for it, do you not?" Neve and Malfoy nodded in unison and Snape seemed to smile again, this time warmer than before. "Thank you, Miss Coulden, Mr Malfoy."   


And, with that, he went over to Neville and began to interrogate him while Neve and Malfoy muttered Reparation Spells and mended the shoes and robes that had been damaged (Malfoy taking the time to insult each Gryffindor that came towards him).  


Their first Potions lesson ended there and the class rushed out of the dungeon for dinner but before Neve could follow Roisin out through the door, Professor Snape held her back. "If you wouldn't mind, Miss Coulden, I'd like to speak with you for a few minutes."  


Neve walked over to his desk and stood in front of it, wondering what on earth he wanted to talk to her about. She found out soon enough.   


"Miss Coulden, may I ask how you came to possess the knowledge that you demonstrated today? I did not ask Mr Malfoy this question because I know very well that his father would be the one to - ah - teach it to him. But although I was with your parents at school I was not, shall we say, particularly friendly with them and wouldn't know what designs they had in store for their children," said Snape in an amazingly gentle voice, devoid of mockery and with what seemed like genuine interest and concern.   


"My parents didn't really teach me anything," Neve answered curtly. "All that I told you today I taught myself. We have a very large library at home and neither my mother nor my father objected to me reading and learning from books."   


Snape nodded slowly. "I know exactly what you mean, Miss Coulden. I taught myself many things too, but I also had teachers and the lessons I learnt from them brought me more knowledge than any book could," he said, and gave a harsh laugh. Then he grew serious again and he fixed his eyes on Neve, who was starting to feel somewhat intimidated.   


"You see, we are all fools, Miss Coulden," he continued bitterly. "Because only fools learn from their own mistakes, as the clever ones learn on others'. We all learn on our own mistakes because we all make them. You can't escape it and, if they are bad enough, they will haunt you for the rest of your life, as mine do. Enjoy your life, Miss Coulden, and live it to the fullest. Don't let yourself stray onto the wrong path, because you will either live or die regretting it."   


He then dismissed Neve and left the young witch to her pestering curiosity about what his mistakes had been. She knew he wouldn't tell her his secrets willingly but she was determined to find out; she was a Slytherin after all, and the trademark cunning and perseverance of her house should help her along the way. And with that thought in mind she strode off to the Great Hall.


	7. Spirits

**CHAPTER SEVEN  
_Spirits  
  
_**   


The week passed by in quite the same way as things turned out on the first day, and seven days steadily went by. On Monday of the next week, the Slytherin first-years had Charms and History of Magic after breakfast, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts before lunch, and Herbology and Potions before dinner.   
  
All of the Slytherins learned to anticipate Potions and hope that Neve and Draco Malfoy would pull off more performances of their knowledge and thus, gain even more points for Slytherin.   
  
But Neve didn't reach the dungeons for her Potions lesson that day.   
  
Lunch had just begun and Neve and Roisin were on their way to the Great Hall from their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Roisin was complaining about Professor Quirrell. "He's such a bloody moron! Afraid of his own shadow, for goodness sake! He must've jumped ten feet into the air when he saw it move," she grumbled. "Honestly, they couldn't give us a worse teacher for any subject."   
  
Neve nodded mutely though not paying much attention. She had had a splitting headache ever since the beginning of Quirrell's lesson, and every few minutes she felt a piercing pain in her chest which intensified with every step she took. She could think of no legitimate cause for neither the headache nor the chest pains, but they bothered her and she began to feel scared.   
  
When she reached the Slytherin table, she collapsed onto the bench beside Roisin, the latter not noticing anything wrong with her, and put her hands to her chest. The pain was unceasing and worse than before, making it difficult to breathe properly.   
  
No one seemed to have noticed that there was something wrong with Neve and she didn't have enough energy to speak up. Beside her, Roisin was still chattering about how incompetent a teacher Quirrell was, completely oblivious to her friend's pain.   
  
Everything seemed to swim strangely infront of Neve's eyes, and the multitude of voices around her sounded like a buzzing of bees in a hive. She couldn't comprehend anything anymore, and she couldn't control the pain any longer. Her chest tightened and she suddenly wanted to cough, but because she couldn't take in any air, she could not cough.  
  
Then, without warning, she keeled back right over her seat and sprawled - unconcious - on the stone floor.   
  
Roisin heard Neve hit the floor and turned around; when she saw her friend she let out a shriek that echoed around the hall and commanded silence. Roisin threw herself onto the floor beside Neve and tried to awaken her, but to no avail. She heard gasps from several people and cries of "What's wrong with her?" and "What happened?" from every table but she concerned herself with Neve only. Then a black-clad figure loomed over her - Professor Snape. "Miss MacKeve, may I ask what is going on?"   
  
"I - I don't know, sir ... she seems to have fainted but ... but ..." Roisin stammered, clutching Neve's hand in one of her own.   
  
An expression of grim concern placed itself on Snape's face and he knelt down by Neve, checked her pulse and his face darkened. He picked her up and carried her out of the Great Hall, Roisin running in his wake. He strode briskly down the marble staircase to the dungeons and through the long corridors to his office.   
  
It was a fairly large room, with a dark desk, and a couple of forest green armchairs. On the many shelves attached to the stone wall were bottles and jars of coloured liquids, dried plants, and other potions ingredients.   
  
Snape gently lowered Neve into an armchair, lit the fire in the grate with a flick of his wand, and began inspecting Neve's hair, eyes and skin. When he lifted up her eyelids, Roisin gasped; the irises of Neve's eyes were a blood-red colour, and the pupil's were large and not black, as was usual, but a deep dark blue. When he finished examining her, Snape stood up and paced back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back.   
  
"Sir? Professor? She's not - not ... dead?" whispered Roisin.   
  
Snape stopped walking and seated himself behind his desk, staring at the floor. After a moment's silence, he said, "No, Roisin, she isn't dead. She'll be alive for a few more hours yet."   
  
"What do you mean for a few hours?" breathed Roisin, trembling. "Professor, what's going on?"   
  
Snape looked at her; she could never have imagined seeing him like this, worried and almost panic-stricken. "Do no ask me how I know this, but I am sure that Neve has been inhabited by a spirit which shares her body with her own soul. "  
  
Roisin's mouth fell open in shock. She remained speechless for a few seconds before finally choking out, "_What? _ But - but ... why did this spirit possess Neve's body? Of all the other bodies in the world, why did it have to be Neve's?"  
  
Snape sighed heavily. "Well ... the reason a spirit possesses the body of a live person is because the one who owned the spirit before did not complete their purpose in this world while they were still alive. Also ... they feel that they can accomplish something that they wanted but were unable to do at the last moments of their life ... like to take revenge on someone ... so they make someone else do it for them, unknowingly.   
  
"Usually, only very powerful spirits possess live bodies and there have not been many cases of a child being possessed. Only one other, and the girl died because she didn't have enough strength to control the spirit." He looked down at Neve sternly. "That is why Neve has no more than twenty-four hours to live, though if she is stronger than I suppose she may get another twenty-four, but no longer."   
  
Roisin was doubly horrified. Die? Neve? It couldn't happen! She just wouldn't let it happen. Neve was the only friend that Roisin had! And it would be most unfair, in Roisin's opinion, if Neve were to die when she had so much more life in her. "But _ why_ did it have to use Neve?" she wailed.   
  
"Because the spirit deemed her powerful and strong enough to do what it could not. The spirit didn't ask Neve whether she would or wouldn't mind being taken over to do its intention. It simply hid itself inside her body and ... and ..." Snape faltered.   
  
His eyes suddenly opened wide in astonishment but he seemed to be seeing something Roisin was blind to. He lowered his head to his hands. "It is possible that Neve's mother was possessed with a spirit and when Neve was conceived, the spirit transferred itself into her. Perhaps because it felt she had more potential power than her mother," he muttered.   
  
After a few seconds of silence, Roisin asked hopefully, "Professor, isn't there any way we could get the spirit out of Neve's body?"   
  
"Exorcising a spirit is a very dangerous process, Roisin. There is every chance that Neve could be killed if the spirit is exorcised, just like there is every chance of the same thing happening if the spirit overpowers her. However ... if she is strong enough ..." said Snape, gazing pensively at Neve. "If she is strong enough she will live, but the full influence of the spirit cannot be extinguished. If we do all the necessary precautions, it is very possible that she will survive."   
  
"How exactly do we do the exorcising?" asked Roisin curiously. She was no longer panicking; if there was even the slimmest chance that Neve could live, then what had to be done, would be done.   
  
Professor Snape was silent again, his head still in his hands, thinking and trying to remember with all his mind. It was not difficult, the memory of her resided in his mind ever since she left Hogwarts and she was the one he thought of the most during those lonely hours at night. Finally, he looked up at Roisin, his eyes strangely bright. "I believe I know of someone who can help us, and I'm quite sure she will consent to do so."   
  
**~ ~ ~**  
  
Evelyn Trennor sat straight-backed and cross-legged on the floor in the tiny cluttered attic of her home, draped in mauve robes. She sat with her eyes closed, the redness of the sunset pouring in through the skylight on the roof and the open window opposite her. She was completely still and quiet, her chest slowly rising as she stowly breathed in and out, her long hair shining golden in the crimson light.   
  
A loud hoot sounded outside the window, and a barn owl with glossy feathers soared into the attic, dropping a scroll of parchment beside Evelyn and landing on the windowsill. Evelyn still didn't move or open her eyes but she took a deep breath, exhaled and reached for the scroll. She didn't unravel it but felt around the parchment, tracing a finger over the small Hogwarts seal.   
  
"Rough yet gentle at heart ... cruel, but remorseful and pained ... bitter, though hope is not all lost," she said, running her fingers over the emerald ribbon holding the scroll. "Yes, only he would have these qualities, only he would sacrifice himself for another, only ..."  
  
She put the parchment to her nose and sniffed, the ghost of a smile spreading its way around her lips. "I see you haven't quite forgotten me, Severus," she said and opened her eyes as she unrolled the parchment and read:   
  
  
_Evelyn,   
  
Yet again in my lifetime I must call on your aid, but this time, I ask for it to be administered not to me but to another who I am sure you won't mind helping. As you predicted eleven years ago, the child has indeed been possessed but it only showed itself today and I am sure she has no idea of the truth about herself. The possession is much further along than you expected it to be, so please hurry. I place all the hope I have left in you, my friend.   
  
Yours in faith,   
S. S.   
_   
  
Evelyn stared at the letter unblinkingly, the smile now gone from her mouth. So she had been right. So she had spoken the truth when, on one particularly tempestuous night, a little girl had been born to one who had never wanted to become a mother, and to one who had never expected to become a father. It was a tiny creature that was born, silent and sickly, but alive. It had been a most strange birthing and Evelyn suspected that it had turned out a very strange child.   
  
She never thought that her prediction on that night would come true as it only came to her in an angry moment. And now it would shape the girl's life. She wished that she hadn't made that prediction, that she could take back her words, but she knew that it was impossible.   
  
Evelyn was a Seer, and one of the very few in the whole world with healing powers. But of course it was expected for she had descended from the great Merlin himself. And she had gone to Hogwarts the same years as Severus Snape, been sorted into Slytherin with him, and became the best friend he would ever have.   
  
But something happened that disrupted their friendship, and they hadn't contacted each other for five years until one fateful night when everything changed, not only for them but for the whole wizarding world.   
  
However, after that night, things did not go back to the way they were during school days for Evelyn and Snape. Both retreated to their own sanctums, all hostility for each other lost though neither dared to renew their full friendship. The first time Snape contacted Evelyn after the night was five years ago, and it had been for a very serious matter indeed.   
  
She remembered how she first saw him at that time - filthy, frightened, and in great pain. She remembered how he told her of what those who had once been his friends did to him because of his renunciation of the Dark Arts. How he flinched when she ran her fingers nimbly over his body, healing him ... and how she had seen him break down for the first time in her life.  
  
Now, five years later, he was asking for her help again and for yet another serious subject. Evelyn sighed, tore a piece of blank parchment from Snape's letter, summoned a bottle of ink and a quill from across the room and wrote:   
  
_  
_ _Severus, _  
  
_I promise I'll come and you know that I keep my promises, so expect me around six o'clock tonight. Use all your skills as a medi-wizard to provide resistance to the spirit. There is no need to meet me, I know my way.   
  
Evelyn. _  
  
  
She then sealed the parchment, walked over to the barn owl and tied the letter to its leg. Standing by the window, she watched it flapping into the distance until it was quite out of sight. Then she closed the window and skylight, and rushed downstairs to prepare.   
  
**~ ~ ~**  
  
A sharp gust of wind blew over Neve's body as she lay on her back, black hair spread out around her head like the legs of a spider, in the middle of a deserted street, making her shiver into consciousness. Opening her eyes, she beheld a mass of grey clouds looming over her, sure to burst with rain at any moment.   
  
She stared at them unblinkingly for a minute, trying to discern where the clouds ended and new ones formed; it was difficult as they all seemed to have molded into one great block of stone.  
  
Eventually Neve rose to her feet, bleary eyes slowly taking in her surroundings. On both sides of the cobbled road she stood on were houses of varying sizes, though all were no larger than two storeys. The gardens in front of each of the houses were small and well-kept, full of herbs and pruned rose bushes. Every single window of every house was closed and curtained. There were no people anywhere along the street as far as Neve could see.  
  
Another gust of wind rushed through the street, biting through Neve's Hogwarts uniform and breaking off the last few leaves of a nearby tree. Neve wrapped her cloak closer around her body and walked briskly down the road, her breath rising in a mist before her face. Her eyes straying to the wet clumps of red, brown and yellow leaves that choked the gutters.   
  
The road was not a very long one. A little further along, where there were no more houses beside the road, Neve was able to clearly see a dark house standing at the very end of it, a large metal gate prohibiting entry to the driveway. Drawing closer to the gate, Neve noticed that this house had larger lawns than the other houses, but also that they were not as well looked after as the others.   
  
The grass was very patchily cut with some bits longer than others, the few flowering shrubs that remained were thin and withered, and the trunks of the trees that stood, gnarled and naked, on the lawn were covered in some sort of green fungus. All in all, the front garden did not look loved at all. _More like hated and almost forgotten_, thought Neve.  
  
Looking up at the house Neve thought it was no better. Ivy had crept over nearly every uncovered surface of the house it could reach, making it look as though it was either covered in charcoal or painted black. Most of the front windows were boarded up with planks of wood, allowing presumptions of them being broken. The door of the house was large and dark, and boarded up also.   
  
There was nothing beautiful about the house, not even for Neve. It was very drab and imposing, so much that it even appeared cruel and somehow dangerous, like a snake pretending to be dead in order to draw its prey closer. Neve felt as though she knew it, had seen it before, had even been inside it, but she just didn't know _how_ she could feel this when she _knew_ that she had neither been in it nor seen it before.   
  
Feeling slightly disconcerted, Neve turned away from the house and looked to the right where there was a smaller road leading to a wide bit of pavement. She trudged along the road, arms crossed, lips pursed, trying to keep in the little warmth she had as yet another bout of wind harshly blew her hair away from her face.  
  
She had no idea how she could have got to wherever she was, but the only reason she wanted to get away from it was the cold. It was definitely autumn but Neve had never experienced a season so icy without actually having snow.   
  
Yet there was a certain strangeness about the place that fascinated Neve; an eerie, almost sinister gloom seemed to hang in the very air, almost palpable, as though clusters of invisible people were grouped along the road, breathing their misery into the atmosphere. If it had not been for the houses, grass and leaves desperately clutching at the skinny twigs of trees, Neve suspected that the village would have been completely colourless, existing in only black and white.  
  
No, the ivy-covered house was not beautiful, but this peculiar feeling was, or so Neve believed. She felt somehow akin to this place, as though she had lived here all her life, but then she remembered that she had never seen it before and the feeling diminished slightly, as though a voice was turned off in the back of her mind.  
  
Approaching the pavement at the end of the road, she saw a narrow pathway leading the way through an aisle bordered by bare birch trees that were curved like an archway, topmost branches entwining to form thin, stick-like shadows on the path. Neve supposed that in the warmer months they would make a pretty green canopy with a few slits of light here and there. But now, the branches looked skeletal and intimidating against the slate-grey sky.   
  
Suddenly, a small shape seemed to run from the gap between two of the birch trees and went tripping down the pathway, giggling. Neve blinked and the shape disappeared. She looked around her warily as though suspecting more shadowy shapes to come running out from the trees. Then, she heard a soft giggle ahead of her and, turning her head, saw that same small shape a little way ahead of her.  
  
It was a very small girl of around seven or eight years bundled up in a dark grey coat, her thin legs for some reason looking odd in white stockings, holding a bunch of crusty maple leaves in her tiny fist. She was grinning widely at Neve, her grey eyes wide and amuseed, chest heaving as she inhaled and exhaled deeply; a beret was perched precariously atop her head, with long strands of black hair hanging down from under it. She gave a high-pitched laugh and ran off down the path, her shoes making pitter-pattering noises on the stone path. "Come on! Come on!" she shouted back gleefully.  
  
"Wait!" Neve cried.  
  
But the girl had disappeared again although she had still been in full view of Neve. The oddest thing about her, however, was not her random vanishings, but the fact that she looked uncannily like Neve. In fact, Neve could have easily believed that the girl _was_ her if she had not been smiling so happily or running so fast. Neve could not remember one incident in her that had made her want to either smile or run like that.  
  
Another strange thing about the child was that she seemed to be curiously transparent, even with the dark colour of her hair and bright colour of her stockings. She seemed to be made of the kind of material as ghosts, though the speculation that she _was_ a ghost was dismissed almost instantly from Neve's mind for ghosts did not run.   
  
Neve blinked again and the girl materialised at the end of the aisle, still grinning and breathing deeply as though she had run very far and very quickly. She laughed softly and beckoned to Neve with her free hand. "Come on! Hurry! Hurry!" she called before turning around and running further down the aisle, away from Neve's line of vision.  
  
"Wait!" Neve yelled, but to no avail; the girl was gone.  
  
Neve sighed impatiently and, after looking left, right and behind her, plunged into the aisle, running after the little girl as she had never run after anyone. Her black robes and silky hair fanned out behind her as she raced along the path, her own shoes sounded like thunder on the old flagstones. Just as she reached the end of the aisle and was preparing to run down the presently sloping path, she saw the ends of the girl's hair disappear as she rounded the left hedge at the bottom of the slope.  
  
Neve slid down the path and out between the two hedges, gazing about wildly for the girl but she was nowhere to be seen. Instead, several rows of crumbling tombstones bearing fading inscriptions littered the green plain before her. It was very plainly a graveyard.   
  
At the other end of the plain was a narrow lane lined with hedges surrounding it from every side. As she couldn't see where the girl went to, Neve strode wended her way through the tombstones towards the lane, reading the text of the ones that caught her eye.  
  
There was _Margaret Catherine Wedham, b. 1964, d. 1980, Dearest and only daughter and beloved granddaughter_; _Peter Joseph Norton, b. 1937, d. 1976, Never To Be Forgotten_; _William Andrew Smith, b. 1945, d. 1987,_ _Fate Will Prevail_; and many more, all of which succeeded in thoroughly depressing Neve and unearthing a great interest in how the named people died, for the tombstones did not specify any more details.  
  
When Neve reached the lane it looked much darker than she had thought, most likely from the lack of light able to penetrate the hedges. She hurried through it, eager to be back in the light for being in the dark inside a graveyard did not appeal to her much, even with her unnatural morosity. She emerged into a larger, round and grassy area strewn with autumn-coloured leaves from the few trees around the edge of the hedges.   
  
This area also contained tombstones, but these were not many, and much bigger and more ornate than the previous ones. It looked like a private graveyard reserved only for the deceased of a certain family and none else.  
  
And indeed, as she looked at the various contents of the closest tombstones, Neve noticed that they all had the same surname: _Riddle_. The males also seemed to have the same first name: _Thomas_. The names on the two tombstones at the front were _Solange Ursula Riddle_ and _Thoma_s_ Robert Riddle_, and bore dates of birth and death around a hundred years back. The next ones were _Victoria Mary Riddle_ and _Thomas Albert Riddle_, with dates of some seventy years back. The ones after were _Beatrice Elizabeth Riddle_ and _Thomas John Riddle_, with dates that were quite recent compared to the others.   
  
The very last ones were a little way apart from each other, the one on the right being smaller than any of the others. The larger tombstone on the left bore a date that was the same as the that of the ones in front of it, some sixty years back, and the name _Thomas Jonathan Riddle_. The littler tombstone bore a very different date of birth and death that seemed to span only nine years. The name above the dates was _Neve Riddle_, with no middle name in between.  
  
Neve gasped, her eyes widening in shock and fear, her heart beating three times faster, face turning chalk-white. She trembled as she stood staring at the tombstone which clearly bore her first name and the surname of the other family. She could not imagine what was going on, she didn't even _want_ to imagine, she was too terrified.   
  
Could it be a coincidence? She was not a Riddle, she was a Coulden, she had been living with her parents for the past eleven years. She didn't know if names like hers came up very often in the days when the most recent Riddles were still alive, but she didn't think so. Then what else could it be? How had her first name come to be on this tombstone when here she was, standing in front of it, alive and more or less well?   
  
Neve didn't really think she wanted to stay and find out for the answer seemed to be fairly ominous and frightening to even contemplate.  
  
She turned to go back through the lane when she suddenly heard the little girl's high-pitched laugh again. Neve turned and saw the girl dancing in a whirl of wind and autumn leaves around the two furtherest tombstones, her face alight with amusement. She glanced at Neve and in that moment, Neve saw that the girl _was_ her, though she had never acted like the little girl had. Neve backed away towards the narrow lane, and started when she looked down and saw the girl was standing next to her all of a sudden.   
  
Neve stared at her and the girl stared back blankly, all amusement gone. They had the same stormy grey eyes, same long black hair, small nose and rosebud mouth. They were even of the same build, both short and slight. The girl raised her arm and stretched it out to Neve, palm forward, as though to block her face. Neve reached out her own hand, but her fingers came in contact with something like a cool mist instead of the soft skin of a child's hand.  
  
Then, a searing pain ripped through her arm and all through her body, a pain like she'd never felt before nor ever been able to imagine. Neve yelped and tore her hand away from the girl's with all the energy she possessed; instead of relief, it felt as though her own arm was being pulled out of its socket! Neve stood weak-kneed, panting like she'd run a mile. She looked down at her hand and nearly fell to her knees in horror.  
  
A curvy sort of X with the outline of an eye in the centre of it that had three lines running through it, each slightly shorter than the one preceeding it, had somehow been etched into her palm without any blood being drawn. Neve had never seen anything that even resembled the mark, and no matter how much or how hard she rubbed her hand, the sign continued to gleam and did not seem to have a reflection.   
  
Neve looked up at the girl and observed that she had opened her mouth as though to gasp, looking desperately sad and almost scared. She shuddered, and before Neve could do anything, vanished like smoke, her eyes brimming with tears.   
  
Neve didn't think she could stand it any longer. She turned and flew through the dark lane, catching her cloak on the chipped tombstones at the other end, slipping and sliding up and down the sloping pathways leading into and out of the graveyard. The world seemed to be spinning around her, the sky pressing down closer and closer to the earth, the birch trees stretched their skeletal arms towards her, eager to trap her in their clutches.  
  
Just as she was about to step out onto the wide pavement at the entrance to the paved aisle, Neve tripped and went sprawling onto the flagstones, completely unconscious by the time her head hit the ground.  
  
**~ ~ ~**   
  
Severus Snape was pacing back and forth in the hospital wing, his black robes billowing around him, his brow furrowed, countenance dark and gloomy. Roisin was no longer with him; he had sent her to the girls' dormitory to give her some rest, and to give all the inquirers a false but reasonable explanation for Neve's condition. He didn't want the whole school to start panicking, and neither did Professor Albus Dumbledore, who had visited Snape's office an hour ago and confirmed the truth about Neve.   
  
She had been moved to the hospital wing and Snape administered his strongest Draughts of Peace on her every hour to keep the fever down. Snape stopped beside Neve's bed and looked down at her. Her face was pale and wan, her mouth slightly open, and her chest barely rising with her infrequent breaths. She looked so small wrapped in the coverlet that Snape wondered whether she had been frequently ill when she was younger, and perhaps not grown enough because of it.   
  
He watched her anxiously as she began trembling and her breaths came in short rapid gasps. A few strands of her long black hair fell over her eyes and Snape reached out his hand to tuck it back, but caught himself just in time. He remembered that it wouldn't be at all prudent if he touched her, because if the spirit was raging within her then it was best to leave it be or serious harm could be done to the possessed. But he had no need to do anything about it because Neve twisted her head to one side and the locks fell back, leaving her face clear.   
  
He couldn't ever recall seeing a face like Neve's. Even now she looked vulnerable and childlike when asleep, but before, when she was awake, she was cold and controlled, though she never seemed relaxed. There was a certain gracefulness in her manner, like that of a panther, that particularly caught Snape's attention. He could easily see that she was not beautiful in face or body, but he knew that people would be drawn to her inevitably; he only hoped that she would be able to handle it.  
  
Just then, the door of the infirmary opened and a woman with long silvery hair walked in, quietly closing the door behind her. Snape recognised her profile at once; the last time he had seen it was five years ago. He could never forget it, not even at his death.   
  
"Evelyn!" he gasped, opening his arms in welcome.   
  
The woman nodded but ignored his open arms, offering a thin, pale hand, which Snape grasped in his two larger ones.   
  
He could barely believe that he was seeing her again, that he was holding her hand without her pushing him away. But he knew that she would come, she always had and always would. There was no emotion in her turquoise eyes to betray her true feelings on meeting him again; she was as calm and cool as a crisp winter morning.   
  
In Evelyn's eyes Snape seemed healthier and better-looking than he was five years ago. But there was something in the way he held himself, in his face, in his whole being that pronounced wisdom and strength. But trapped in the darkness of his eyes she saw anger, bitterness, regret, and sadness. She knew the reasons for those caged emotions, and she sympathised.   
  
Yet she wished that he would never let those emotions take control of him, for fear of the same thing happening that had happened ten years ago. She was enough attached to him as it was. She remembered how those deep black eyes had beguiled her, and driven her to the heights of ecstasy ... it seemed to be so long ago, half a century at least ... but it was only ten years ...   
  
But nothing like that was to happen now. She couldn't let him take control of her again. She'd have to fight against him and his charms.   
  
Rustling from Neve's bed broke the silence, and Evelyn slipped her hand out of Snape's clutch and drew closer to Neve's bedside, bending over her. "How has she been?" she asked worriedly.   
  
Snape sighed and shook his head. "Not very well, I'm afraid. Fever, high temperature, minor paroxysms. I've been giving her my strongest Draughts of Peace every hour and she's quietens, but I believe she's still in torment. Look at her hands."   
  
Evelyn looked down at Neve's blanket, and saw the girl's small hands gripping the blanket as though it was being torn away from her. Her breathing grew even more ragged than before, beads of perspiration poured down her face.  
  
Evelyn placed her palm a couple of inches from Neve's forehead and focused on her face; the heat radiating from the child was incredible! Her body temperature was much higher than was usual, and this was not a good sign at all.   
  
"She's burning, Severus," said Evelyn, taking her hand away from Neve. "The possession is more than advanced than I imagined. In a few hours, she will be lost."   
  
"Well, what do you suggest we should do?" barked Snape. "I don't want to exorcise the spirit because there's a very high risk that she'll be killed in the process."   
  
"Make contact," replied Evelyn calmly. "Ask the spirit what its purpose is. If it's not for evil, we keep it and teach Neve how to control it. If it is for evil, then I'd rather she died with an unpossessed body."   
  
"But there is no one in this school who can handle it. Sybill Trelawney may be a Divination professor but she's hopeless at impromptu trances, as with pretty much everything else. And Dumbledore - "   
  
"I didn't say it had to be someone in the school," interrupted Evelyn. "I will be more than happy to do it myself."   
  
"No! Evelyn, I won't let you put your life in danger. Do you know how hazardous it is to make contact with a potentially evil spirit that resides in someone else's body?"   
  
"Much better than you do. I've done this before, Severus, and I'm doing it again. I've been through hundreds of trances and connections, and I'm sure I can survive a hundred more."   
  
Snape gripped her hands in both of his again, pressing them tightly and drawing her closer to him. "I have put your life at risk before," he whispered, "And I still haven't forgiven myself. I'd die to protect you, Evelyn, and you know it. My love for you hasn't waned."   
  
Evelyn ripped her hands away and crossed her arms, avoiding Snape's eyes. "Don't speak to me about love, Severus," she said, hitching half a smirk onto her face. "I'm heartless when it comes to that matter. And don't even think of charming me with your suavity, I'll have none of it."   
  
Amusement flickered in Snape's dark eyes, and a sardonic smile pervaded his features. "So you still think I'm attractive, do you? Your love for me may have been extinguished, but you know you can't resist my allurement."   
  
"Whoever said that I loved you in the first place?" asked Evelyn coolly. "Maybe I just used you for my own pleasure and you were fool enough to take the bait!"   
  
The corners of Snape's mouth turned down, but he didn't seem in the least perturbed. "Yes, still so convinced that you could make men fall at your feet in rapturous desire. And still reaching for the sceptre of the Ice Queen, aren't you? No matter how much it's frozen over, Evelyn, you've got a heart somewhere, and the ice will melt someday."  
  
"And you're so sure that it will be you! Don't get your hopes up, Severus. I'm an Ice Queen when I need to be," replied Evelyn, hiding a smile. She loved teasing him even though he did not always bite.   
  
"Charming as always," muttered Snape glancing at his watch and walking to the infirmary door. Casting a glance at Neve, he said, "We can talk about Neve's condition over dinner. Coming?"   
  
"Oh yes! I've been longing for those Hogwarts meals ever since I left, and my imitation of them wouldn't even get down my own throat!" remarked Evelyn.   
  
"You don't look it; still as bright and healthy as I remember you to be."   
  
"And you look the complete opposite. Anyone would think you're living as a hermit and wasting away with nothing to give," observed Evelyn, walking out the door held by Snape.   
  
"You don't know how right you are," mumbled Snape, giving Neve one last glance before closing the door behind him, and following Evelyn to the Great Hall.  



	8. Contact

**CHAPTER EIGHT  
_Contact  
  
_**   


When Neve awoke, it was to find herself lying on her back in a large four-poster bed with lavish, dusty curtains that had been drawn back, exposing most of the room in which she was in. It was very old, musty and dark, the window at the left side of the room being hidden behind burgundy drapes. It was also very quiet, as though there was no one else in the house but her.  
  
Again, Neve didn't know how she could have ended up in such a place. She supposed that someone from the village must have found her and carried her here to rest, though exactly where or what _here_ was, she didn't know. She tried to sit up but found that she couldn't move her legs at all. Very weakly, she raised herself onto her elbows, but the unexpected influx of fatigue and feeling of distinct illness almost immediately made her fall back down.  
  
Neve opened her mouth to gulp in more air and a sudden fit of coughing seized her. She coughed and wheezed, desperately hoping that someone would hear and come to help her. Her throat and lungs felt as though they were burning with a ferocious fire, choking her and preventing oxygen from getting through.   
  
Eventually the attack ceased, and Neve's head fell back onto the cool pillows again. She raised her hands to her face and would have gasped in horror if she could have taken in enough air for it. Her hands were tiny and utterly wasted, looking as though there was nothing to them but skin and bone, and no flesh at all. Her arms were exactly the same, and Neve suspected that her legs would look something alike if she could only find the energy to move them.  
  
She thought she heard voices somewhere below her but the minute she held her breath to try to listen, the silence of the house reigned on, and not a single footstep, sneeze or cough was to be heard anywhere.  
  
She closed her eyes and tried to stop panicking; she'd just have to ask someone to explain to her what was going on when they came back. Because someone was bound to come. Whoever had put her into this bed in the first place would surely care about how she was feeling.   
  
Then suddenly, Neve heard the door creak open and slowly turned her head to look. Her vision was somewhat hazy but she could still make out a tall boy with dark hair leaning against the doorframe. And he held a wand!  
  
"Hello ... Adeline," he said softly. He strode languidly to the bed, not bothering to close the door, and surveyed Neve with lowered eyelids, a slight smirk on his face. "I see that you did not inherit the trait for good looks, nor for self-preservation. Feeling a bit ill, are we?"  
  
It was on the tip of Neve's tongue to tell the boy that she had no idea what he was talking about, that she was not Adeline (whoever _she_ was), and that she was feeling horrendously ill and didn't know how it came about. But instead, what came out of her mouth was something she was not very concerned about yet.  
  
"Who are you?" Her voice came out in little more than a whisper.  
  
The boy's smirk widened. "Who am I?" he echoed quietly. "I was so sure that you'd at least have some idea, Adeline. Don't you have any of my characteristics at all? But even if you didn't, you ought to have been told." He paused, the smirk turning into a bit of a grimace. "But of course, there would have been no one to tell you ... they all believed I was dead, that it was time to move on, that they could keep the truth from you and make you - " (his lip curled) " - _normal_." The smirk reappeared. "And of course, they were wrong. For here I am, alive and better than ever."  
  
"What do you want?" breathed Neve.  
  
The boy gave her a penetrating gaze, his eyes like steel - cold, strong, cruelly alluring - and said in an almost kind voice, "I want many things, Adeline, most of which you wouldn't understand the reason for. And that is why I must be selfish. That is why I must be cruel to you. But I will be pleasant first and tell you a story." He sat down at the edge of the bed, leaning his back against a post. "You like stories, don't you, Adeline? Well, of course, you do. All little children like stories. This one begins with the birth of a boy ..."  
  
**~ ~ ~**  
  
"You know, Severus, it is very odd that of all the people who are skilled in the matters of spirits and things, you asked me to help you with Neve," said Evelyn from the velvet green armchair she sat in in Snape's office. "Why not Dumbledore? I presume that he knows what happened to Neve."   
  
"Oh, he knows, all right. He knows things about her that I'm sure even you can't imagine," replied Snape, lazily turning the pages of an old book of potions.   
  
"I don't doubt that," said Evelyn. "But you still haven't told me why you specifically asked me for help. You know that I'm not the most powerful witch in the world, and I could screw up."  
  
"I believed otherwise at certain times," said Snape in a low voice. "And I had good reason to do so."  
  
Evelyn smirked at him. "Exactly what do you mean by that? It sounds as though you're implying that I'm some sort of temptress!"  
  
Snape laughed loudly. "Was that your vanity talking or your imagination?"  
  
"Neither. I don't pretend to be anyone who I'm not. You know that as well as I do. If you want a good example of the opposite remember Mortenvia Coulden."  
  
Snape leaned back in his seat. "Ah, yes ... best friends with Narcissa Black - well, _now_ she's a Malfoy. No one could forget either of them. Both always bouncing around in the most expensive and latest fashions, both excellent witches, and both having very influential families and powerful boyfriends. Not to mention tongues like spears." Snape shuddered. "I've always been glad that you weren't part of their little clique."  
  
"Ha! They'd never accept me in a million years! I myself am glad that I never joined them," commented Evelyn. "Merlin knows what they conjured up to amuse themselves with."  
  
"Necromancy is not out of the question."  
  
"No, I think that would be more like Darius or Lucius. And speaking of Darius, you never did tell me what kind of a job he took up."  
  
Snape suddenly assumed an irritable look. "If I knew, I'd have told you long ago. I believe Dumbledore knows, but he won't admit to it. It must be something big and popular, what with all those Galleons that he rakes in."  
  
"Does Neve know?"  
  
"I don't think so. And I don't think she'd be too happy about it. I'm almost sure that it's something to do with the Dark Arts, and from what I have learnt of Neve, I don't believe that she'd be into that sort of stuff as much as Darius would like. She doesn't seem to like Lucius' son, Draco, very much, and he's a sure candidate for the Dark Mark."  
  
"Even with Voldemort being the weakling that he is? That would be pointless!"  
  
"Not quite." Snape frowned. "I have reason to believe that he has found someone to work for him, to bring him back to power. And I also have reason to believe that this person is in this very school."  
  
"Oh, come off it, Severus! Dumbledore wouldn't employ someone who he thought was working for Voldemort!"  
  
"No, he wouldn't," Snape said hesitatingly. "But there's always the chance that he doesn't know about it. The one I suspect of the crime is rather cunning."  
  
"And who would that be? Rubeus Hagrid?"  
  
Snape stared fixedly at Eirian for a few seconds before announcing, "Quirenius Quirrell."  
  
Now it was Evelyn's turn to frown. "But ... isn't he the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?"  
  
Snape nodded grimly. "Isn't that clever?"  
  
Evelyn wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling cold. "What if he harms the students? Even brings Voldemort into the castle?"  
  
"He wouldn't do anything to the students that would risk his exposure. The only one he should be after is Harry Potter. As for bringing Voldemort into the castle ... well, to be frank, that would be extremely difficult as he is rumoured to be devoid of a human body."  
  
Evelyn nodded slowly, though still unconvinced. "What is Quirrell's plan for Voldemort?"  
  
"I am putting my trust into you when I ask you not to tell anyone about it," said Snape, sitting up in his chair. "More than my job is at stake if anyone hears of this from you."  
  
"I have never betrayed your trust, Severus," confirmed Evelyn solemnly.  
  
"There is an object of fantastical power hidden in the school right now. An object powerful enough to bring Voldemort back to life without any trouble, if Quirrell ever got his hands on it. It would be very easy for him to get it because he helped to protect this object, along with Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Pomona Sprout, and even Hagrid. This object is the Philosopher's Stone."  
  
Silence reigned in the office for quite some time. Both Snape and Evelyn sat very still, each lost in their own thoughts until Evelyn finally spoke up. "The Stone can make the Elixir of Life ... and if Quirrell succeeds ..." Then she narrowed her eyes slightly at Snape. "How can you be sure that it _is_ Quirrell?"  
  
Snape looked away from her to the fire in the grate. "I have my reasons."  
  
"Well they'd better be good," threatened Evelyn. "Now ... back to the very beginning. You still didn't tell me why you chose me to help you with Neve."  
  
Snape sighed in a noncommittal sort of way. "Since you are the only one other than Dumbledore and myself who knows about Neve's past, is trustworthy enough, and has the potential to help her, I called on you."   
  
"And in what way do you want me to help you with her? I still maintain the opinion that I should make contact with the spirit and ask it's purpose."   
  
"You do love to put yourself in danger, don't you? I wonder that you weren't a Gryffindor," mused Snape.   
  
"Like I said, I've done it before and I'm sure I can do it again. And anyway, you really have no right to forbid me from doing anything."   
  
Snape smiled bitterly. "No, I don't. But would you change your mind if you saw me like I was five years ago?"   
  
Evelyn looked him square in the eye. "I am sworn to protect that girl and nothing could sway me, not even death."   
  
"Your promises will be the death of you, Evelyn," sighed Snape. "But as you said, I have no right to prevent you from doing what you want. Just don't say that I didn't warn you."   
  
"So when should we do it? Midnight?" asked Evelyn, standing up.   
  
"If you wish. There's a full moon up so making contact should be relatively easy. That is, if the spirit doesn't oppose it."   
  
Evelyn shook her head. "On a full moon the gates of the spiritual world are wide open to all, and making contact with spirits is the easiest magic of that type that could be performed at this time."   
  
Snape glanced at the silver-framed clock on the wall. "It's half past eleven already. If you want to do it soon, we'd better hurry up."   
  
And with that they both walked out of the office and headed for the hospital wing.   
  
**~ ~ ~**  
  
"You can't be serious!" exclaimed Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, when Snape and Evelyn informed her of Neve's condition.   
  
"We are very serious, Poppy, and we're going to need your help if we are to placate the spirit and keep Neve alive," said Snape.   
  
"But when did this happen? Does the Headmaster know?"   
  
"Dumbledore knew about this before anyone, and when it happened is not your immediate concern," said Evelyn. "Will you help us or not?"   
  
"Well, of course I will! But what exactly are you going to do?"   
  
"I am going to make contact with the spirit and find out what it wants to do while it is in Neve's body," explained Evelyn. "And I will do this at midnight, tonight."   
  
Madam Pomfrey was appropriately shocked. "Do you know how dangerous that is? There have been deaths, and people have suffered from brain damage, and all sorts of other nasty injuries!"   
  
"If you have a safer alternative, I'd be very glad to hear it," said Evelyn coolly.   
  
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips in a disapproving manner.   
  
"And since you don't, I suggest you follow our instructions if you are prepared to help us with it," added Evelyn. "So," she said, suddenly business-like. "Poppy, I'd like you to please boil a kettle of water and to use any non-magical means to keep Neve's temperature down. Just don't apply anything to her skin.   
  
"And Severus," she turned to Snape, "might I ask you for several _Nymphaea caerulea_ lotus petals, three or four sprigs of mistletoe, about 10g of finely chopped flowers of Roman chamomile, and some op - " She paused for a moment, thinking hard. "Yes, about 5g of _Papaver somniferum_ powder."   
  
Snape brushed a hand across his mouth as though to wipe away a smile, nodded, and without hesitation, billowed out of the room.   
  
"_Papaver somniferum_? What on earth is that?" inquired Madam Pomfrey. "Never in all my years as a mediwitch have I come upon anything of that name."   
  
Evelyn allowed herself a crafty smile. "No, you wouldn't have. It is not a plant of medicinal powers," explained Eirian. "Remember Poppy, we are not trying to heal Neve, for there is nothing to heal. We are simply trying to make contact with the spirit within her. When I drink the draught made from all those ingredients, I will have the ability to penetrate the walls of Neve's subconcious and let my soul contact the spirit that has possessed her.   
  
"The plant will be able to prevent any opposition from the spirit or Neve. She will take a drink of it too, and that way, I can assure that no harm will come to her when I intrude upon her and the spirit. It is a very old draught, probably invented by the Ancient Egyptians."   
  
"And that _Papaver somniferum_ is the only safety precaution?" asked Madam Pomfrey suspiciously.   
  
When Evelyn nodded, she pursed her lips once more and bustled off to put a kettle on the boil, muttering about "dangerous procedures", and "no doubt illicit mixtures", and "lack of common sense", under her breath.   
  
Evelyn took off her midnight blue cloak, draped it over a chair in a corner of the room and strode over to Neve, who had lain still and quiet in her bed for the past thirty minutes. Her skin was still deathly pale and her brows were knitted in a frown, but her hands were no longer tearing at her blanket. She seemed to be in a peaceful slumber, apart from the fact that her chest was hardly rising an inch.   
  
Evelyn knew time was running out, but she believed that Neve would survive. She looked a mentally and spiritually strong sort of girl, and that was where the battle was - in the mind and soul. Evelyn hovered her hand a few inches from Neve's forehead, and breathed a sigh of relief when she realised her temperature had gone down.   
  
It meant that Neve was on the final road to either death or life, and Evelyn prayed that it wouldn't be the former. Not only was Neve too young to die, but it would also be a great big shame to let her go without her even knowing the truth about herself. Her soul would be forever lost.   
  
But Evelyn was not going to let that happen; even if it killed her, she'd get Neve back to life.  
  
As Madam Pomfrey set a a pitcher of hot water onto a small table at the foot of the bed next to Neve's, Snape re-entered the room bearing four crystal phials of the ingredients Evelyn had asked for, and set them beside the pitcher.   
  
Evelyn then stepped upto the table and conjured two frozen glass tumblers into which she dropped the torn remnants of two lotus petals, and the chamomile and mistletoe. She then sprinkled an equal amount of the _Papaver somniferum_ powder over the herbs, and poured the hot water over the whole lot until both glasses were three quarters full.  
  
Immediately, the contents of both tumblers began to smoke and shrivel up, the ice on the tumblers melting, and an entrancing fragrance filled the room which did its best to make the occupants light-headed. But Evelyn and Snape overcame the temptation with their Slytherin determination, and Madam Pomfrey waved her hand infront of her face to keep herself from dozing off - she was a former Ravenclaw.   
  
Evelyn picked up one tumbler and opening Neve's mouth slightly, trickled the liquid very slowly into the sleeping girl's body. Neve's cheeks suddenly grew pink and her eyebrows unknitted themselves while an expression of tranquillity possessed her features. Evelyn brought the other tumbler to her lips and drank until there was nothing left in the glass.   
  
Then she dropped down onto a chair by Neve's bed, straightened her shoulders and grasped the handles of the chair, closing her eyes and beginning to breathe slowly and deeply. Snape and Madam Pomfrey were completely still, and the only sounds that could be heard within the room were the breaths of Evelyn and Neve.  
  
**~ ~ ~**  
  
"... This one begins with the birth of a boy," said the tall, dark-haired boy sitting on Neve's bed. "He was as unusual as they come, very different from the rest of the boys who he shared the orphanage with. His father didn't want him exactly because he was so unusual, so _different_, so original.   
  
"So he left him with Muggles ... stupid, filthy Muggles who treated the boy as though he did everything he could to cause them trouble." He smiled terribly. "And the boy soon decided that it was better to have done the crimes they accused him of, than to be innocent and accused guilty.  
  
"None of the boys at the orphanage liked him; they all thought he was too strange and dangerous. But the boy didn't mind. He knew he was much more special than them, much better, more clever. He could do things they could never be able to no matter how hard they tried. But he was wise and kept quiet about it, for he knew they would only use it against him.  
  
"Then, after eleven years of enduring the company of Muggles, the boy received a letter that was to change his life forever. It was from a school that taught people like him, people who were just as unusual and special as he was. Of course, he grasped his chance to leave the orphanage, and everyone was glad to get rid of him, just as he was happy to be leaving them.  
  
"The boy's life had never been better than when he was at the school. He learned how to nurture and control his powerful gift, he even learned much more than any of the school's professors could teach him. For he wanted to be the best, the most powerful, the most feared, admired and respected out of all the students. And in many ways, he was. And he had never felt so exhilarated in his life as he did during those years when he gathered followers, admirers, _true_ _friends_ who would rather die than serve someone else!"  
  
The boy's eyes gleamed with a passion that Neve easily observed in his voice. "And he embarked on a quest that would bring him to what should be the ultimate goal of every mortal," he continued. "Immortality, of course. But _that_ was not _his_ ultimate goal." The boy shook his head, seemingly amused. "No, no, that was for lesser men who could never reach the height of power that he achieved. _His_ ultimate goal was to make the world a better place for people like him.  
  
"But as there were Muggles who thwarted his plans at the orphanage, so there were people, even those like him, who were against him and his hopes. _Stupid_ people who didn't understand, who _couldn't_ understand what it had been like for him or why he hoped to succeed.   
  
"They didn't know that under his power they would forever live bountiful lives, with no fear, no death, and nothing expected from them in return but unswerving loyalty and obedience." He shrugged elegantly. "In my opinion, not much. But in the minds of those idiot, Muggle-loving _fools_, everything I ask for is too much," he finished solemnly.  
  
Neve had been listening completely entranced by the boy's words, not entirely realising who or what he was talking about. She had a feeling that the "story" was about him but she couldn't imagine why he was telling it to her or, more likely, to this Adeline that he thought she was.   
  
Close-to, she noticed that the boy's eyes were fairly similar to her own; if she could just get rid of the blurriness her eyes caused perhaps she would find that they were exactly the same. He also had a straight Grecian nose, black hair that was formed in waves on his head, and strong bone structure.  
  
Presently, he spoke again, "Of course, the boy decided that there was only one way in which he could succeed. He had to rid his path of all obstacles that would prevent him from achieving his aims. Meaning, of course, that he would have to _exterminate_ all those people, whether they were like him or not, who stood in his way." Another terrible smile crossed his handsome features. "And that is how I was brought to you, Adeline. Unfortunately, _you_ are one of the people standing - or rather, lying - " he smirked " - in my way."  
  
Neve began to tremble. If he meant what she thought he meant, then things were going very bad very quickly. And worst of all was the fact that she still couldn't hear any other sound apart from the boy's voice, so there would be no one to call to for help. Her eyes widened in fear and her breathing quickened as he stood up and approached her, wand pointed straight at her heart, his index finger in line with it as though he was going to dip it downwards.  
  
"I _do_ wish that things could have been different, Adeline," the boy was saying, almost in a whisper, "but you can understand my dilemma, can't you? You know that I must do this, you know that you must go."  
  
"No ... no ..." whimpered Neve, drenched in cold sweat. "_Please_, no ..."  
  
The boy tilted his head to one side. "I've always wondered why people tend to think that if they say 'please', their attacker will leave them. Unconsciously, they know that they'll die anyway, sooner or later, so wouldn't it be better to die sooner and be allowed to escape all the pain and suffering awaiting them in the future?"  
  
"They look forward to the better times, they forget about the pain," Neve gasped.   
  
"Then they are stupid." The boy's voice was now hard and cold. "Life is full of more pain than death can ever be. Unless you are like me and use every opportunity to rise higher and higher into power that comes your way. The more power you have the less pain you will feel for then not many would be brave or stupid enough to attack you. They will be too afraid. And even if they do, you will be too high above them to feel much hurt. You will be in a better position to hurt _them_."  
  
Neve looked him straight in the eye, the haziness suddenly evaporating, and said firmly, "I know." This time, she meant to say the words; they didn't just fall out of her mouth out of nowhere. For some reason, she wanted the boy to know that she knew.  
  
His eyes expressed surprise for a moment, but then he recollected himself and the cold smirk returned. "It won't help you much now, but at least I know that you understand, that you are at least a little like me. But now I must be cruel, heartless and ruthless. I'm sorry, Adeline ... or perhaps not. After all, things will be better ... you will not be sick anymore and I will be higher up the staircase of power."   
  
The smirk slowly faded off his face and Neve thought she could see a slight sadness in his swirling grey eyes. "Goodbye, Adeline." He raised his head, standing tall and proud, and said two words that made Neve open her mouth and let out a heart-rending scream.  
  
"_Avada Kedavra_."  
  
**~ ~ ~**  
  
The old mahogany clock on the wall in the hospital wing at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry struck midnight. Its customary twelve bongs resounded throughout the hushed room in which Severus Snape and Madam Pomfrey sat in chairs, staring at the two unmoving figures across the room: a woman sitting straight-backed with her chin tilted high, and a small girl lying, pale and frail-looking, in the bed.   
  
As the last echo of the clock died away, the girl in the bed twitched slightly, then twitched again. An piercing scream rent the still atmosphere in the infirmary and the girl began breathing in a desperate manner, her mouth open wide, almost choking as the air flew in and out of her body.   
  
Severus Snape sprang out of his chair and hurried over to the girl's bedside, watching her intently. Her left hand was pressed tightly against her chest, and her right hand was lying rigidly by her side. Then, as suddenly as it began, her strange breathing stopped and all the muscles in her body loosened and relaxed.   
  
Snape began to panic when he realised that her chest was not rising at all, though colour was returning to the girl's cheeks and she seemed to be at peace. The woman in the chair beside the bed stirred, and a spasm shook her body. Her head dropped and her arms hung down limply.   
  
Snape turned to her and stood on his knees before her chair. "Evelyn? Evelyn ... please wake," he whispered. He touched her cheek lightly with his hand and her body shook again, but this time her head eyes snapped open and she groaned.   
  
"What a nightmare," she breathed, shaking her head.   
  
Snape let out a sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin you're alive, Evelyn," he said. "For a moment, I thought I'd lost you."   
  
The ghost of a smile briefly flickered around Evelyn's mouth. "_You_ lost me? Remember Severus, I don't belong to you and therefore you could never lose me. I belong to myself, thank you very much."   
  
Snape was silent for a moment but then, "You'll never let anyone in, will you? Not even if you're an inch from death."   
  
"I have no one to blame but you for that. Not that I would. Personally, I think it's better this way."   
  
Then she noticed Madam Pomfrey watching them curiously, and stood up from the chair, avoiding any contact with Snape. She bent over the girl in the bed, and hovered her hand above the girl's forehead before gently placing it onto her skin.   
  
Smiling wearily, she said, "It's worked. Neve's temperature has gone down and the spirit has been placated. She should wake up in a day or perhaps even a couple of hours. I expect she's had a very rough time."   
  
"But what happens if it decides to be the master again?" asked Madam Pomfrey worriedly.  
  
"The same thing. That's why she'll have to learn how to keep it under her control," supplied Snape. "But it's a terribly large burden for an eleven-year-old girl, one that she should never have had to bear if it hadn't been for - " He broke off and quickly corrected himself. "If certain precautions had been put in place."   
  
Evelyn glanced at him reprovingly, but Madam Pomfrey didn't seem to notice his mistake; she was gazing pitifully at Neve. "The poor dear," she sighed. "Her parents know, of course?"   
  
Snape stared at Evelyn who quickly said, "Yes, they do know." Then she added strictly, "But nobody else is to hear a word about this, Poppy. And I mean nobody."   
  
"Not even me?" said a hoarse voice from the bed.   
  
They all looked down at the small face surrounded by silky black hair. The girl's eyes were still closed, but she was definitely breathing well.   
  
"Neve! Awake already? You're stronger than I imagined," said Evelyn. "How do you feel, child?"   
  
Neve opened her eyes in bewilderment. "Aren't I dead?"  
  
Snape frowned but Evelyn replied quietly, "Of course not. It wasn't you who was killed, Neve. It was the person whose spirit resides in your body."  
  
Neve blinked, suddenly alert. "I'm possessed?"  
  
Evelyn nodded. "You were simply reliving the memories of the spirit. That's why you're alive."  
  
"Oh lovely. I'm possessed by a spirit, but that's OK! I'm alive!" Neve said sarcastically. She sighed wearily. "Who are you, anyway? And how do you know my name?"  
  
"My name is Evelyn. I'm a friend of Professor Snape's. I helped bring you back."   
  
"Actually she was the _one_ who brought you back. Madam Pomfrey and I were just the assistants," said Snape, with a look of unmistakeable gentleness on his face that very rarely visited it.   
  
"Thank you," mumbled Neve. "So does that mean that it wasn't really my grave?"  
  
Evelyn's brows formed into a worried frown. "Grave? What grave? Where?"   
  
"In the graveyard ... near that awful old house ... it had my name on it ... but it said I was a Riddle ..." slurred Neve, as a wave of sleepiness hit her.   
  
Snape inhaled abruptly. Evelyn licked her lips nervously. "What else?" she prompted.  
  
"There was a girl ... she was the one who led me to the grave ... she looked like me, but I - I think she _was_ me ... we looked so alike ... and when I touched her hand ... weird mark ... bad pain ..." Neve whispered as her eyes closed again and she drifted off.  
  
Evelyn took Neve's right hand in her own and turned the palm to face her; her hold on it tightened when she was what was on it. "Good God!" she gasped.   
  
Snape leaned over her shoulder to see and his face darkened; he gripped the back of the chair Evelyn had been sitting on and met Evelyn's stare. She looked horrified. Madam Pomfrey was looking from one to the other, not understanding their reactions; Evelyn deliberately kept Neve's palm away from her vision.   
  
"It is her mark, Severus," whispered Eirian dazedly, so that no one but Snape would hear. "_Her_ mark ... I could recognise it anywhere ... she took it from - from - " She broke off, her eyes widening in amazement or confusion, Snape couldn't tell which. She began pacing. "It must've been Adeline ..." she muttered distractedly. "So _obvious_ ... but so clever ..."  
  
Snape turned to Madam Pomfrey. "Poppy, may I ask you to leave us for a few minutes? There's something Evelyn and I need to discuss privately."   
  
Madam Pomfrey raised her eyebrows, but nevertheless walked across the room to her office and closed the door behind her.   
  
Snape grabbed Evelyn to stop her pacing. "If the girl _was_ Adeline then the answer to whose spirit it is that has possessed Neve is right before us."   
  
Evelyn shot him a fearful look. "But there's no knowing what the bloody thing could want her to do! I felt evil in it, Severus. Not much, but enough to know it was there."   
  
"We'll just have to teach her how to control it then. It ought to be easier for Neve because of the connection between them. The possession could help her, you know ... sometime in her life."   
  
"Perhaps it could," said Evelyn more composedly. "Depends on what Neve's destined for and what the spirit actually wants with her. Whatever the answer is for both questions, I'm sure that Neve won't have quite the calmest of futures."   
  
Snape snorted. "Does anyone in our world have a calm life? I can assure you that not even I, the bitter hermit, live my life in peace and relaxation. There's just no such thing in a wizard's life."   
  
"Yes, I suppose you're right," sighed Evelyn. "But I have a feeling that Neve's life will be especially ... hectic. Or at least her youth will be."   
  
"That may have been another prediction, you know," said Snape, smiling wryly.   
  
"Oh, I don't care! Something big is going to happen, Severus, and not just once. And she's going to find out about everything sooner or later. I just hope that she can handle it." Evelyn gazed at Neve fondly. "She's a special little girl, and I'm glad she's a Slytherin."   
  
"What else would she have been, Evelyn? A Gryffindor?"   
  
Evelyn chuckled. "Actually, she's quite the courageous little thing. I mean, she managed to get through that ordeal, didn't she? But I suppose her Slytherin qualities outweigh all the others she has. And no wonder, what with her past and future ... she'll need those qualities more than she knows. Although if she was a Ravenclaw she might've been the same ... after all, Salazar and Rowena were cousins, however distant."   
  
"Ravenclaws are book-smart but not necessarily wise about life or clever at getting what they want," said Snape. "That's why those who are determined and ambitious are placed in Slytherin, like Neve. Really Evelyn, she's got quite a good mind in there. Knows more about aconite that any of my third year students, I'll wager."   
  
Evelyn smiled down at Neve sadly. "And we both know who she gets that from, don't we?"   
  
"And it's lucky she's got the gift of thirst for knowledge," said Snape firmly. "It'll help her more than a devastatingly large amount of courage ever can." He frowned at Neve's sleeping form. "She's not lucky in many areas, so let her have at least that bit of glory."  
  
Evelyn sighed gloomily. "Glory. Yes. Expensive thing, that. I've never been able to afford it."  
  
Snape stole a surreptitious glance at her. "You've never tried very hard. You haven't got enough arrogance." He paused. "Although you do have a certain thing for heroics."  
  
"Yeah, well, that's something that can't be avoided," said Evelyn indifferently. "Heroisms are around us everywhere, everyday ... and just because we're Slytherins doesn't mean that we can't or don't want to do them. And another thing - "  
  
"Right." Snape tried to look as though he was bored off his mind. "Lovely lecture and all, but don't you think you ought to get some rest?"  
  
Evelyn shot him a scathing look, picked up her cloak and marched out of the hospital wing, nose in the air.  
  
Snape watched her go calmly then turned to look at Neve and sighed. "Heroisms are all around us, eh?" He strode across the room and was about to walk out the infirmary door, but he looked back at Neve as she turned in her sleep. "One would think that you have enough burdens as it is," he said to her supine form. "Well ... apparently not," he added before crossing the threshold and closing the door softly behind him.  



	9. The Energy

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **For those of you who HAVE NOT read all the previous chapters in the past week, I strongly recommend that you go read them all again as I have made many changes and it is essential that you know about them. So before you move on to this (hopefully much-awaited) chapter, please re-read all the others if you haven't already done so. It's for your own best interests, you know.  


* * *

**CHAPTER NINE  
_The Energy_  
  
**

"_Neve!_"   
  
As she entered the Slytherin common-room at seven o'clock on Wednesday evening, Neve almost fell backwards when Roisin launched herself at her, enveloping her in a rib-cracking hug. "You don't know how glad I am to see you alive, mate! Come and sit down, I'm just doing our History of Magic homework."   
  
"Oh, well, that's nice. First time I get out of the hospital wing and you want me to do your homework for you! It's - "  
  
"Not that much?"  
  
" - absolutely ridiculous!"  
  
"Oh, don't be silly!" Roisin said, with a little laugh. "I only need a little bit of help. You know how my memory is when it comes to historical facts ... and names ... and dates ..."  
  
Roisin led her over to one of the spare mahogany tables in a corner where a foot-long roll of parchment lay, four inches of which were covered in an untidy black scrawl. "Now, I only need two feet more ..." Roisin raised her eyebrows at Neve hopefully.  
  
Neve rolled her eyes in an exasperated manner. "I don't know _why_ I put up with incompetent ignoramuses like you. It's just beyond me."  
  
The two girls sat down on opposite ends of the table, and, picking up her quill, Roisin said sweetly, "Your heart's just bursting with altruism, isn't it?"  
  
Neve muttered something incoherent under her breath in reply.  
  
Roisin looked back down at her parchment. "So ... what was the year when that guy who first invented collapsible cauldrons was born? 1892?"  
  
"1432, you twit," corrected Neve irritably.  
  
"Well, I knew there was a two in there somewhere," mumbled Roisin, scribbling away. "Anyway ... I honestly thought you'd died when you collapsed in the Great Hall on Tuesday! And then when Professor Snape carried you to his office, and then when he checked your eyes," her eyes widened to the size of saucers, "bloody hell, Neve! They were blood-red!"   
  
Neve squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. "Well, I'm better now, so there's no need to make such a fuss. Nobody knows why I fainted, did they?"   
  
"I don't think anyone knows the truth, but the wildest rumours have been going around. Lavender Brown from Gryffindor _swears_ that she saw Arlene Avery put poison in your goblet at breakfast on Tuesday! And Padma Patil from Ravenclaw said that you were probably taking illegal drugs that you bought from Beth Wilkes for fifty Galleons! Ooh, I have an idea! How did the guy who invented collapsible cauldrons die?"  
  
"Got bitten by a basilisk in his attempts to test his venom antidote. When he drank the antidote it turned out he used too much mint for the flavouring, and mint contains a volatile oil that is extremely poisonous in excess amounts, so he died anyway. Who's Beth Wilkes?"   
  
Writing frantically, Roisin nodded her head at a fifth year brunette staring moodily into the fire from one of the armchairs. She had a stony unreadable face and dark eyes.   
  
"Her Dad was a Death Eater and he was killed by an Auror along with my father. Beth's the oldest, but she's got two brothers - Sheldon's a third year and Louvin will be starting Hogwarts next year," Roisin informed Neve. "Patrin told me that Arlene's been after Sheldon ever since their first year! Why am I not surprised? He's one of the handsomest boys in Slytherin _and_ he's a Chaser on the Quidditch team. But Arlene had better watch out; Darren Montague won't like her sticking her hand down other people's pants."   
  
Neve snorted. "Seems like she's after the whole Quidditch team. Isn't Montague a Chaser as well?"   
  
"Too right. And Arlene's dug her claws into him. Poor guy," said Roisin, shaking her head pityingly. "Apparently she tried to cheat on him with Marcus Flint, but Beth gave her such a hexing that the boils didn't subside for a month! Beth and Flint have been together for almost two years, I've heard." She flicked through a large, age-spotted book ( _At the Bottom of the Well: A History of Cauldrons_) lazily. "Now where was the first exhibition of collapsible cauldrons held?"   
  
"Lyons, France." Neve looked back over to the brooding Slytherin girl. "Beth probably knows heaps about the Dark Arts. I wouldn't be surprised if she _ did_ sell illegal drugs around Hogwarts. Nor would I be shocked to know that Arlene got her hands on it and decided to give me a sample."   
  
"Well, if you don't watch out I might just do that," said a silky feminine voice.   
  
Swivelling around, Neve came face to face with Arlene Avery herself, blonde ringlets and all.   
  
Close-up, Neve could smell a disgustingly intoxicating scent emanating from the girl, and fought back the urge to drag her into the fire, but Roisin was nothing short of outspoken.  
  
"What did you do, Arlene? Fall into a tub of rotting newts? Or has Darren Montague finally graded your worth by the perfume you wear?"   
  
Arlene slowly turned her face to Roisin and her pouty pink lips curled into a sneer. "Well, well, well ... if it isn't the illegitimate brat of Evan Rosier. Such good blood gone to waste because of that trashy slut who brought you into this world," she said loftily.   
  
Neve watched Roisin as the blood rushed into her face and her eyes glittered dangerously. "Take a look at yourself before you go dishing out compliments to other people, Avery," she whispered scathingly. "And you'll remember to keep a civil tongue in that worthless head of yours when speaking to me about my parents or you'll be remembering what it feels like to have boils all over your face!"   
  
Now it was Arlene's turn to blush, her whole face glowing scarlet with anger.   
  
But before she could retort, a small pale-faced boy appeared next to her looking very much like her, but with a much friendlier expression. "Not tearing someone's head off, I hope, Arlene?" he said amicably.   
  
Arlene shot him a vicious look before spitting, "You haven't heard the last of this," to Roisin, turning on her heel and stalking away without a backwards glance.   
  
The boy, whose dark blonde hair fell onto his forehead, stared at her retreating back with dislike and said, "It just _had_ to be my bad luck to get that obnoxious tart as a cousin." Then, turning round to face Neve and Roisin, he said "I'm Theodore Nott, if you didn't know, but please call me Ted."   
  
"Neve Coulden."   
  
"Roisin MacKeve. Why should we call you Ted?"   
  
Ted sighed despondently, looking very gloomy. "I hate my name. I mean, what kind of person in their right mind would call their only son Theodore? It's ridiculous! It's horrendous! Disgusting, even! And it just had to be my parents." He heaved another sigh and shrugged. "It's all I can do to stem the humiliation. Anyway ... you're the infamous love child of old Rosier and Ardette MacKeve! It's true that you're illegitimate, isn't it?" said Ted eagerly, rubbing his hands together.   
  
"Well, I don't think that Queen of the Harpies over there would be tormenting me if I wasn't," replied Roisin testily.   
  
"Way cool!" exclaimed Ted, grinning.   
  
Roisin stared at him disbelievingly. "Are you saying that being illegitimate is cool?"  
  
"Well, I'm known for my quirks but ... personally I think it's awesome! I mean, you're different from society, you're an original, you're - you're - " he furrowed his brow, trying to think of an appropriate way to describe it. " - you're eccentric! And that makes you more special than the rest of us legitimate kids."   
  
"Well ... erm ... thanks, I suppose," said Roisin, looking quite overwhelmed. "I've never actually met anyone who thought it was cool. I've always thought that it should be something ikky."   
  
At this, Ted pulled up a chair to the table the girls were sitting at, plonked himself down on it and said good-naturedly, "If there's one thing I'm going to teach you it's never be ashamed of who or what you are. It's what makes you original, different from the rest of the flock of sheep. And from what I know - "  
  
"I suppose you're a fine example? What with your name and all?" interrupted Neve, raising one eyebrow.  
  
"Well, no," admitted Ted. "I like to think of myself as a special case."  
  
"Don't we all," Neve muttered.  
  
"And anyway," continued Ted, "I'm not ashamed of myself, it's just the Theodore thing that gives me hell. But as I was saying, from what I know about you two, I'd say that you're two of the most original girls this school contains. You've got to have pride in yourself; that's how Slytherins are, you know. Sometimes you can't help but be different just because you are or because you want to be. That's like me; people think I'm weird and crazy but really, I'm just different from the rest of the sheep. I wouldn't want to _be_ anyone else."   
  
"Sound advice, Ted," drawled a familiar voice. "Pity that it's useless for that retard Weasley; he wouldn't know good advice from a bad joke."  
  
Draco Malfoy had come over to their table and, pulling up another chair, sat next to Ted, his usual sneer firmly in place.   
  
In close proximity especially, the patrician outline of his face was more than apparent and he looked nothing more, at that moment, than the arrogant son of a very rich man. Who, of course, he was, Neve reminded herself. But it was not difficult to see why Pansy Parkinson liked to sit next to him at meal times and in classes, and constantly prattle in his ear about one pointless thing or another.   
  
The perfect bone structure, sleek silver-blonde hair, cool grey eyes and conceited smirk all unashamedly demanded attention, as did the aura of extreme self-confidence that perpetually hung around him. It also wasn't hard to notice the very well-cared for air of complete scorn and indifference, which he usually saved for Harry Potter and his friend, Ron Weasley.   
  
But Neve had to grudgingly give Pansy the credit of good taste in boys. Draco was, if not anything else, beautiful in a way that only the most proud and charming cherubs are, though he had none of their pudginess. He possessed a slight, graceful frame that never seemed to stumble or make a wrong move as far as Neve had seen. _ Wait a minute ... am I _ complimenting_ the bastard?! He's supposed to be my enemy, not the Spunk of the Century!_   
  
Just then, Draco looked right at Neve and their eyes met, grey to grey, his stare intensifying as she held his gaze and suddenly, something shot between them like a spark of magic, invisible and potent. His sneer began to fade and something flickered in his eyes as he surveyed her, but when she blinked he had plastered his trademark smirk back onto his face, and said calmly, "I know I'm gorgeous, Neve. No need to stare a hole right through my lovely visage and prove the obvious."   
  
The connection had been severed.  
  
Neve decided to roll her eyes at him. "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. You get enough of that as it is." She stood up. "Now, if you will all excuse me, I have a lot of work to do. I believe that I was away for quite some time?" She looked at Roisin for confirmation.  
  
"Three days, oh genius of historical facts," supplied Roisin.  
  
"Exactly," continued Neve. "Therefore I must leave your fascinating company and occupy myself with something more useful." Then without another word, she briskly strode across the common room to the girl's dormitory.  
  
"Swot," said Roisin and Ted in unison, then turned to each other in surprise.   
  
"A kindred spirit, if I may say so!" exclaimed Ted happily.  
  
"Oh no, here we go again," moaned Draco covering his face with his hands. "Every bloody time someone says the same thing as him at the same time, he gets all fussy about bloody kindred spirits."  
  
"Just because you haven't got any, doesn't mean that it's got to be the same for me," protested Ted.   
  
Draco rolled his eyes in reply. "Brace yourself for a great big speech on everything ranging from spirituality to metaphysics," he added to Roisin. "You're gonna have one hell of a long night."  
  
"Too right," said Ted. "We've got Astronomy at midnight again!"  
  
"_Yes!"_ Draco grinned. "My second favourite subject after Potions."  
  
"But we don't get any sleep!" complained Roisin.  
  
"Oh well." Draco shrugged. "We might get to do some practical work this time. Last lesson was downright boring."  
  
"I thought it was interesting," said Ted. "I never knew that there were so many stars and galaxies and stuff out there in the universe."  
  
"I did. That's why it was boring," explained Draco.   
  
"Do you honestly like Astronomy?" inquired Roisin.  
  
"Like I said before, it's my second favourite subject," answered Draco.  
  
"You and Neve should get on well then," said Roisin, shuffling the parchment on her desk. "She loves every subject but History of Magic and Transfiguration."  
  
"But she's good at Transfiguration. Better than anyone in our whole year except for Draco and that Hermione Granger," said Ted.  
  
Roisin nodded. "She says it's not interesting enough. She gets too bored and she hates boredom."  
  
"I can relate to that," muttered Draco. "But it's not like she had a very boring time these past couple of days, is it?"  
  
"She almost died." Roisin gave him a stern look.  
  
"Wasn't she possessed by a spirit?" asked Ted curiously.  
  
"I am not at liberty to tell you," said Roisin firmly.  
  
"Which means that she was," Draco told Nott, smirking. Before Roisin could interject, he cut across her with, "You really ought to learn how to conceal the true meaning of your words, MacKeve. What's your first name, anyway?"  
  
"Roisin."  
  
"How long have you known Neve?" asked Draco in a noncommittal tone, his eyes following the object of their conversation as she went out of the common room, a stack of parchment in her arms.  
  
"I met her on the train ride to Hogwarts," replied Roisin guardedly. "Why?"  
  
"Because I want to find out where she keeps her knickers." Draco shook his head. "Can't a person be curious anymore?"  
  
"Curiosity killed the cat," remarked Roisin tartly.  
  
"And curiosity was killed by knowledge," Draco lazily retorted, examining his perfectly manicured nails.  
  
"And knowledge was killed by stupidity," pitched in Ted excitedly.  
  
Draco sighed. "Trust you to state the obvious," he said to Ted. Standing up, he spoke to Roisin, "Do you have any idea about where Neve's gone?"  
  
"The library, most likely," Roisin answered. "She usually goes there for some peace and quiet."  
  
"Thank you very much for that," said Draco and walked across the common room to the exit.  
  
"I said peace and quiet! Which means that she wouldn't want to be disturbed!" Roisin called after him, distressed. "She'll get very pissed off!"  
  
"If he can handle his father when he's angry, he can definitely handle Neve," said Ted bracingly. "And anyway, it's not like she's going to blast a hole right through his stomach."  
  
Roisin gave him a sharp look. "You'd be surprised. When she's really peeved she can get downright dangerous. You didn't see what she did to Pansy Parkinson on Sunday." She shuddered. "No matter how much I dislike her, I feel a bit of sympathy for her."  
  
"What did Neve do?"  
  
"She ... erm ..." Roisin looked very shifty. "Well, let's just say that Neve believed that she was talking out of her arse too much. I'll leave the details to your imagination."  
  
Nott thought for a moment. "Oh!" he finally exclaimed, looking half amused and half disturbed. "I see. Very ... clever." He grinned, shaking his head. "Well, if I'm thinking what you're thinking then dear old Draco's gonna have a really hard time if Neve decides to give him the same treatment."  
  
"Or they might end up having a hot and steamy romance when they leave Hogwarts. You know, full of passion and erotic cavorts," whispered Roisin.  
  
They both looked at each other solemnly. "Somehow I don't think so," said Ted.  
  
"Yeah, I agree," said Roisin, shuffling her papers again. "That would just be too much of a cliché."  
  
**~ ~ ~  
  
** Draco did not know exactly why he had decided to find Neve. What had happened earlier in the common room between them was something he had never experienced before with anyone. It had felt rather ... nice ... and he wished that she hadn't blinked and broken the moment. The precise feeling during that moment was indescribable; Draco was sure that there was no word in the dictionary that could summarise it well. And he wanted to feel it all again.   
  
He reached the library sooner than he expected and quietly strode in, turning his head every which way looking for Neve. But the library was quite large and it might take him a good portion of the ten minutes that were left before it closed for the night. He walked past rows upon rows of hundreds of books into the very back of the library, nearer to the shadowed Restricted Section. And turning his head to the right, he spotted Neve sitting in a corner table all by herself, surrounded by books and parchment.  
  
But she was not writing or reading. Her forehead was resting atop a page of a thick yellowed book, and her hair was covering both sides of her face so that Draco could not see her expression. He glided over to her table, pulled out a chair and lowered himself onto it, trying his hardest not to make any noise. But his efforts didn't help.  
  
"I'm afraid I didn't ask you to join me," said Neve, her voice muffled by the book. She sat up and peered at Draco disinterestedly. "What does a person have to do to get some peace and quiet around here? Even the library's not got enough anymore."  
  
Draco looked around. As far as he could tell, nobody was making any kind of disturbance to the stillness of the library. Everyone seemed to float across the stone floor as running was prohibited, along with dirt, food and drink, and loud noises. He turned back to Neve, one silver eyebrow raised questioningly.  
  
"With my buzzing head, it's louder than a crowd of angry geese," explained Neve curtly.  
  
"What've you been taking? Anti-sanity pills?" Draco asked.  
  
"For your information, Mr-I'm-Too-Witty-For-My-Socks, I have not been taking anything at all."  
  
"Might be the side-effects of that near-death experience you had, then." Draco leaned forward, placing his palms on the table. "What actually happened to you?"  
  
"None of your bloody business, so sod off." Neve began gathering her scrolls of parchment and books after checking the bronze clock in the form of an owl on the wall opposite her.  
  
"Oh, but it is my business. I go to this school to learn so don't deprive me of my right to education."  
  
Neve shot him a dark look. "Fuck off or I'll tell Madam Pince that you're disturbing the peace."  
  
Draco's eyes glittered mockingly. "Oooh, can't we handle nasty, annoying Draco by ourselves? Is he too nosy for sweet, little Neve?"  
  
"I said, _fuck off!_"   
  
But when Neve lifted her head to glare at Draco his amusement was suddenly switched off, to be replaced by a warm, exciting sensation that drove goosepimples up his spine. This was it, that same feeling that he had felt in the common room when this very same thing happened. What it was he did not know, but he was glad that Neve was making no move to stop it. He noticed her eyes were wide, but not with fear. They sparkled with wonder and excitement and her cheeks gained two pinkish spots.   
  
Draco suddenly felt like touching her face ... it looked so soft and thin ... he raised his hand, noticing that she did the same ... both of them slowly reached for the other's arm, fingers outstretched, faces eager and alight with something so amazing and so beautiful that not even the greatest poet could describe.  
  
The moment their index fingers touched, both Neve and Draco gasped as some sort of magical energy pulsed through their bones. They both drew away at the same time, still staring avidly at each other, huffing and puffing as though they'd both just run a mile non-stop.  
  
"What did you do?" breathed Draco.  
  
"Nothing!" Neve replied, completely bewildered. "What did _you_ do?"  
  
"Nothing at all."  
  
"Well, that's great! Something totally unreal happened and we have no idea how! We could have just done Dark Magic and we don't even know!"  
  
Draco shook his head. "No, it wasn't Dark Magic ..."  
  
"How can you be so sure?" Neve cocked her head to the side sceptically. Neither of them were gasping for breath anymore.  
  
"Did that feel like Dark Magic to you?"   
  
Neve snorted. "Yes, I really know what Dark Magic feels like. You see, I practice it every day right under Dumbledore's nose - "  
  
"Dark Magic always feels evil," interjected Draco. "And anyway, this school is littered with Anti-Dark Arts wards, so we'd be getting a visit from the whole Hogwarts staff right about now if that actually was Dark Magic. And as we are still here and not in Azkaban, I have full confidence in saying that it wasn't Dark Magic at all."  
  
"All right then, Mr Confident, what was it then?"  
  
Draco stared straight into her eyes. "What do _you_ think?"  
  
"I don't know!" Neve threw up her hands in frustration. "But it was ... weird ... not bad but really, really odd, like nothing that I've felt before ... as much as I hate to admit it, it was kind of - "  
  
"Nice?" Draco suggested.  
  
Neve lowered her eyes.   
  
"I liked it, too." Draco paused, now staring at the table. A ghost of a grin played around his mouth and his eyes regained their mocking twinkle. "Do you know, I think our souls might've made a connection ..."  
  
Neve slammed her hand down on the table so hard it shook. "Right, that's enough! I've had enough experience with souls to last me a lifetime, thank you very much."  
  
"Fine then, I won't take a philosophical approach. Perhaps something more logical would suit you ... how about 'I think our inner evil chipmunks decided to come out and play'. Any better?"  
  
"Oh really." But Neve couldn't help smiling. _Perhaps the cocky git isn't so bad after all_, thought Neve.  
  
"You really wouldn't like to consider the theory of soulmates, would you?" Draco grinned teasingly.  
  
_Scratch that; he's an idiot. _"Sorry to disappoint you and your theories, but I don't believe that anyone in this school is likely to be my soulmate, least of all you," said Neve forcefully. "It's all just a bunch of rubbish anyway."  
  
Draco gazed at her solemnly. "You really don't like to open up to anyone, do you? I actually want to be your friend, but you don't seem to want any friends at all. Aren't allies a good thing in your mentality?"  
  
"Friends and allies are two different things. In my opinion, allies are better. You don't feel obliged to make sacrifices for them."  
  
"They're practically the same, Neve. A friend is just a euphemism for an ally."  
  
"It's a matter of opinion, isn't it?" Neve shot back at Draco, snapping her book shut.  
  
But before Draco could reply, the thin vulture-like librarian, Madam Pince, came bustling over looking irritable. "The library is closing now," she barked, her beady eyes narrowed at the two young Slytherins. "And first-years ought to be in their common rooms by eight o'clock." She sniffed, as though their presence was causing her grief.  
  
"Make sure you put your books in their correct placements. And if I find that any damage has been inflicted upon them, the culprit will find themselves marched off to Mr Filch's office." She followed Neve around the library as she put her books back in their places, and nearly clawed her eyes out when she accidentally dropped a book while trying to fit it between two particularly fat ones.   
  
Eventually Neve and Draco tip-toed out of the library, feeling Madam Pince's disconcerting glare on their backs. They hadn't spoken to each other since Madam Pince interrupted their previous conversation, but both were waiting for the other to speak first. Finally -  
  
"We've got Astronomy tonight," Draco decided to say.  
  
"That's nice," Neve mumbled, trying to keep a hold on all the parchment she was carrying.  
  
"I thought you liked Astronomy."  
  
"I do," Neve grunted, bending down to pick up a roll of parchment that had fallen from her arms.  
  
"Oh." Draco paused. "It's only eight o'clock so we've got four hours to go."  
  
"OK."  
  
"What are you going to do?"  
  
"Why is that any of your business?"  
  
Draco sighed in frustration. "Why do you have to bite my head off everytime I ask a question?"  
  
"Because all your questions seem to be of the utmost nosiness," Neve said as they reached the entrance of the Slytherin common room. "Why don't you be useful instead of nosy and remind me of this week's password."  
  
Suddenly, they heard a sniggering that seemed to come from the stone wall itself. Neve glared at it accusingly. "And what's so funny, may I ask?" she inquired of it. But the only reply she received from it was more sniggering.  
  
"Don't tell me you've forgotten the password," Draco drawled. "Aren't you supposed to have a good memory?"  
  
"Stupid - bloody - wall!" With every word, Neve kicked the stone with her foot, only succeeding in angering herself further and making the wall laugh even more. "All right, that's it! I'm going to Professor Snape!" And she stormed off back down the corridor.  
  
"Dust and mildew," Draco muttered to the wall, causing it to slide open. "Hey, Neve!"  
  
Neve turned and, seeing the open wall, glowered at the smirking Draco. He bowed and gestured for her to go through. She swept past him into the common room without sparing him a glance. "You look much better when you're angry, you know that?" he said.  
  
Neve froze. Turning to face him, she said in a low voice tinged with spite, "And you look like a little boy who's just pissed his pants when you're excited," and stalked off to the girl's dormitory, leaving Draco feeling very humiliated and splenetic.  
  
**~ ~ ~  
**  
Neve used the hours before midnight to copy out all the notes Roisin had made from various lessons while Neve had been unconscious in the hospital wing. She also managed to do her own versions of the homework that had been set while she was absent, and felt fairly tired by the time she had finished at ten to twelve.   
  
Potions ingredients, Transfiguration theories, historical dates and names were all whirling inside her head as she, Roisin and the rest of the Slytherin first-years trooped out of the common room on their way to the Astronomy tower.  
  
The underground dungeons were quiet and empty, the only sound being the echoes of the footsteps of the Slytherin first-years. They were only ever used by Slytherins and Potions students, so were never really crowded. Nevertheless, the brackets on the walls always had flames burning in them, crackling merrily and occasionally spitting fiery sparks.   
  
The Slytherins soon reached the ground floor of the castle and heard the sounds of another group approaching, which turned out to be the Hufflepuff first-years.   
  
It had been established long ago at Hogwarts that every Wednesday night at midnight, all the first-years from each of the four houses made their way to the Astronomy tower. Otherwise there would have been a great clash with the time tables of students in higher years.   
  
So, unperturbed with the addition to their group, the Slytherins led the way through long moonlit corridors, up thankfully stationary staircases, and finally into a vast circular room cluttered with telescopes, models of the solar system, and various other astronomy tools. Around forty writing desks stood in long straight rows, none of them with chairs.  
  
It seemed that all the other first-years had already arrived for there were two other obvious groups in the room apart from the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. And at the very front of the room, in her glittery dark blue robes, stood the Astronomy teacher, Professor Clair Sinistra.  
  
From a distance, Professor Sinistra appeared to be an older twin of Neve - both had dark hair, pale skin and slender frames. Close-to, however, there was a great difference between them. Sinistra's eyes were of the darkest blue, always to match her robes; she had a long nose that seemed to be a bit sharp at the end; she smiled much more than Neve did; and her voice was soft and kind, rarely ever raised in a shout.  
  
Neve liked Professor Sinistra, but that was not something wondrous as there was hardly a single person in the school who didn't. Her aura simply effused charisma of the highest kind, and even the irritable Professor Snape couldn't help but be courteous towards her.   
  
Presently she raised her wand in the air and all fell silent. She beamed around at them all, her eyes sparkling. "Good evening, first-years," she said fondly. "Welcome to your second Astronomy lesson. I hope that you have all brought your telescopes because we will be having a practical lesson tonight. Those of you who forgot to bring their telescopes will have to use the spare ones," she finished, gesturing towards the little group of plain school telescopes on her left.  
  
Then she pointed her wand up towards the highly unremarkable ceiling of the room and uttered, "_Perspicuus._" To everyone's surprise the ceiling completely disappeared. All they could see instead was a copy of the sky outside the castle, just like in the Great Hall.   
  
Tonight the sky was an inky black, free of clouds and dotted with thirty or so twinkling stars of different colours. A full moon was glowing above Sinistra's head, suspended in the skies by an invisible string.  
  
Sinistra raised her wand again and swept it around the room, extinguishing every torch and candle, and then did a complicated little flick towards the sky. "Please choose a desk, take out your telescopes and writing materials, and light your wands. You all know the Lumos Charm, I presume?" There was a general murmur of assent. "Good. You may use your wands as light to write by, as you will be labelling all the stars and planets that you can see in the sky tonight."   
  
Nearly everyone groaned in disappointment. Sinistra smiled slightly. "If you have done your homework, you will have an easier job of this exercise than those who neglected it. To make it a little easier for you, I have brightened the stars and planets that I want you to label so that you can see them more clearly."  
  
Neve stepped up to the lectern-like desk in front of her, took out her telescope, a roll of parchment, ink and a quill, dropping her bag at her feet. She arranged her things carefully on the desk and looked up through her telescope at the flickering star closest to her. Its red colour told her it was the planet Mars and she drew a tiny dot on her parchment, captioned with the planet's name.  
  
There were few who even got as far as drawing their tenth star that night. It seemed that only fifteen out of the forty or so first-years had at least tried to learn the names and recognisable characteristics of the assigned stars and planets for homework. When the lesson had ended an hour and a half later, Professor Sinistra received only three rolls of parchment (one each from Neve, Draco and Hermione Granger) with complete star charts. Most of the others simply had a mass of unlabelled dots.  
  
Half the class had to be woken so they could trudge off to their dormitories with the rest of their housemates. Even Neve nearly fell down three storeys when the staircase she was about to sleepily step on moved away; Roisin grabbed her robes just in time before she set her foot on thin air.  
  
Mercifully, all the Slytherin first-years reached the common room unhurt, in time to see Vonda Wilkes and Marcus Flint fall onto the floor from the sofa beside the fireplace. Neve distinctly heard Marcus growl, "Bloody first-years," under his breath as he disentangled himself from Vonda. Judging by the smirk on Roisin's face as she ascended the staircase to the girl's dormitory, Neve wasn't the only one who noticed.  
  
"Ugh, that was awful!" moaned Pansy Parkinson, kicking off her shoes and flopping down on her four-poster bed. "What's the time?"  
  
Neve glanced at the bright green digits of the clock on her bedside table. "Twenty to two," she informed.  
  
Pansy, Blaise Zabini and Roisin all groaned. Millicent Bulstrode had already fallen asleep in her bed, not bothering to change out of her uniform.  
  
"But you know what?" said Roisin to Neve as she struggled with her shoe laces. "I wouldn't mind having a window now. That gorgeous view!"  
  
Neve shuffled over to the grate in her nightgown and soon had a merry blaze crackling away after a few pokes with her wand. "My point all along. If you were close enough to it, you could just stare out at the sky all night." She slipped between the warm covers of her bed, closed the hangings around it, and tucked the quilt around herself as much as she could. "Good that Hogwarts has house-elves."  
  
"Oh yeah, I forgot that," said Roisin from her own bed. "Lovely and warm, eh? Then there's the food ... and the common room's nice and clean in the mornings ..." She gave an injured sniff. "Lucky bastards, the Hufflepuffs. Patrin told me they're near the kitchens, so _they_ can nip down and get a midnight snack from the house-elves any time they want to."  
  
"You must have a stomach for a brain, Roisin," said Neve matter-of-factly.  
  
"Ah well, food is the kind of magic that I could learn about at any time of day," replied Roisin. "After all, it all comes down to food, doesn't it?"  
  
Neve didn't trust herself to answer. Instead she turned her back to Roisin and stared at the darkness of the curtain facing her.  
  
This was what she had been dreading: sleep. She was afraid that she would revisit the graveyard with the tombstones of the Riddles, and then become someone called Adeline and be killed again by the strange boy who seemed to be related to her. Neve didn't know exactly why, but she hated him. The boy meant something to her, but it was as though she couldn't remember what. And, curious as it was, she felt that she didn't want to find out.   
  



	10. Hogwarts's Little Secret

**CHAPTER TEN**   
**_Hogwarts's Little Secret_**

  
  
The next two days passed by quite mundanely; the first-year Slytherins received a mountain of homework that Roisin said they were most likely not to accomplish till Christmas, though it was only a handful of Slytherin first-years that were to be found in the library on Saturday morning.  
  
Eager to get the last bits of her homework out of the way, Neve went off to the library as soon as she had finished eating her breakfast in the Great Hall, dragging a very disgruntled Roisin along with her.  
  
Neve almost immediately regretted this benevolent action, however, because every time she had a spark of inspiration for her most recent Potions essay Roisin would sigh in frustration and make the most extravagant mess on her own essay, scribbling and crossing things out every few seconds, and causing Neve to experience serious desires to break something.  
  
"Will you bloody well _stop doing that?_" Neve finally exploded.  
  
"Sorry, but I'm having no bloody luck whatsoever in writing this stupid essay!" growled Roisin, crossing out another sentence.  
  
"Maybe if you got out your books you'd have a bit of bloody luck," said Neve through gritted teeth, crossing out for the fourth time the wrong amount of poppy pods needed to make a Forgetfulness Potion and tearing a big gash in her parchment in the process. "Damn it!" And she began to swear under her breath in such a vibrant way that Roisin nearly fell off her chair in shock.  
  
"Sweet Merlin! What happened to being a lovely, innocent, little eleven-year-old?" she gasped.  
  
Neve ignored her and, scowling darkly, pulled out another roll of parchment and began to write her essay all over again.  
  
By the time she had finished all her weekend homework, it was eleven o'clock and both her head and right hand were aching from writing so much. Five minutes after Neve threw down her quill in triumph, Roisin followed suit, having copied great chunks out of Neve's essays and thus rescued her desperate position.  
  
"You do know that you won't be copying off me in the exams?" said Neve mildly, packing up her things.  
  
"Of course I do," said Roisin dismissively. "I'll just stash a couple of Cheating Quills under the desk and I'll have award-worthy essays in no time."  
  
"Ever heard of _Anti-_Cheating Quills?" asked Neve, as they walked out of the library.  
  
Roisin didn't answer, though looked slightly put-out. "What are we going to do now?" she asked, striding down a corridor.  
  
"Oh, I don't know. How about - "  
  
But Neve didn't get to finish her sentence because, at that moment, there was a loud crash as Roisin's ink bottle fell to the floor and splattered the marble floor and the two of them in dark green ink.  
  
"Oh, _shite!_" cried Roisin, her freckles stained green. She rubbed her hand around her face but only succeeded in smudging the ink further around it, making it appear as though she was going to be sick any moment.  
  
Neve looked as though she was crying green tears because of the trails left by the ink spots as they trickled down from under her eyes. "Bloody hell," she muttered. "And jus when we most need it, I can't remember the spell to clean up this mess."  
  
A loud meow sounded from somewhere around her ankles and Neve looked down into the glowing, lamp-like eyes of Mrs Norris, the beloved cat of the caretaker, Argus Filch.  
  
"Uh-oh," she breathed. "Run!"  
  
Abandoning the steadily spreading mess of ink, Neve and Roisin hurtled around the corner, down a long corridor and dashed up a staircase to the next storey, bags and robes swinging wildly behind them.  
  
"Hold on," panted Neve, "I don't think he's coming."  
  
Suddenly they heard a roar of rage from below. "_Ink?!_ _GREEN INK_ ON THE _RUG?!_" And with another roar, Filch began stumbling up the staircase as fast as his old legs would carry him.  
  
"I think you were wrong," gasped Roisin.  
  
They darted through a tapestry on their left and flew along the hidden passageway behind it, finally coming out somewhere near their Charms classroom. Panting heavily, they ran down to the end of the corridor and slammed into a door - which was locked.  
  
"This is the end!" wailed Roisin, twisting the doorknob hopelessly. "We're going to get expelled! Patrin's going to become a witch and I'm going to live life like a Squib! Oh, what'll Gran say?"  
  
"Oh, be quiet!" snarled Neve. "Nobody gets expelled for breaking a bottle of ink." She rummaged in her bag. "Wand, wand, where's my wand?"  
  
"I've always wanted to come to Hogwarts," continued Roisin with even more misery, "and I haven't even been here a month and already I'm in trouble!"  
  
"Aha!" cried Neve triumphantly, tapped her wand on the doorknob. "_Alohomora!_"  
  
The lock clicked loudly and the door opened; just in time Neve and Roisin slipped through it and shut it.  
  
"Come along, my sweet," they heard Filch say to his cat, "they can't be hiding here, there's no room."  
  
"Idiot," whispered Neve.  
  
"Let's check the next corridor, beloved."  
  
Roisin leaned her forehead against the door in relief. "Well, that was close."  
  
"I have got to teach you to put Unbreakable Charms on your ink bottles," said Neve. She frowned. "Are you hungry?"  
  
"I'm always hungry," replied Roisin matter-of-factly, "why do you ask?"  
  
"Because your stomach is growling."  
  
"It is not!"  
  
"Oh, that's right, you'd be whining about how hungry you are." Neve sniffed the air. "I trust that you wash regularly?"  
  
"Of course I do!" exclaimed Roisin indignantly. "What's with the questions all of a sudden?"  
  
"Well, someone's growling and really stinks." A blast of wind from behind them nearly knocked them off their feet. "And someone's been eating fish."  
  
As they turned around they found out exactly who. A sight the likes of which neither girl had ever seen met their eyes: a gigantic monster of a dog with three enormous heads and three pairs of glowing, yellow eyes; three black noses, twitching and quivering like overgrown black rabbits; three drooling mouths with sharp, decaying fangs. And to top it all off, all three pairs of its eyes were staring at Neve and Roisin as though they'd never seen anything alive before.  
  
"You think it only likes fish?" gasped Roisin.  
  
"Do you want to find out?" Neve choked out.  
  
"No, do you?"  
  
"No, I'm too fond of life at the moment."  
  
They both grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open, falling through it and slamming it in front of the dog's face. Then they raced down the corridor and didn't stop running until they reached the safety of the leather sofas in the Slytherin common-room.  
  
"What's with the marathon?" asked Ted Nott, who was sitting at a table and had been writing what looked like an essay when Neve and Roisin burst in.  
  
"Run away from the third-floor corridor!" panted Roisin, her hand on her forehead.  
  
"Eh?" Ted raised one eyebrow questioningly.  
  
"If you see the third-floor corridor, run the other way," gasped Neve, clutching a stitch in her side.  
  
Ted's eyes widened in amazement. "You two went to the third-floor corridor? But it's forbidden."  
  
"And for a good reason," shuddered Roisin. "Bloody monsters all over the school. First Filch's damnable cat, then damnable Filch himself, and then that - that - _thing_ - "  
  
"You know, I think it was a Cerberus," said Neve thoughtfully, "on account of its having three heads."  
  
"A hellhound, if I ever saw one," muttered Roisin.  
  
"There's a three-headed dog from hell in the third-floor corridor?!" exclaimed Ted, alerting several older Slytherins a couple of feet away from him. "Just kidding, there's no such thing anyway," he quickly corrected himself.  
  
"Be quiet, will you?" snarled Neve. "We don't want the whole school knowing. We only stumbled in there by accident when we were running away from Filch."  
  
"Oh, it was horrible," moaned Roisin pitifully. "You should've seen the teeth on that thing! All ten thousand of them covered with stinking, yellow pus - "  
  
"I think you mean saliva," corrected Neve.  
  
" - And it's eyes! Oh, I'll have nightmares about that monster for the rest of my life!"  
  
"Roisin, you have nightmares about armies of broccoli with ferocious goldfish as their steeds chasing you around Hogwarts," said Neve, "and you're worried about nightmares of a three-headed dog?" She shook her head in mock bewilderment.  
  
"Well, you should've seen those goldfish bounce," said Roisin defensively. "Like bloody kangaroos. And they had _teeth!_" She shuddered.  
  
"First three-headed dogs, then goldfish, now kangaroos ... " Ted scratched his head in puzzlement. "Will someone please tell me what's going on here?"  
  
Neve crossed her legs in the manner of a Turk. "We found out what's hidden in the third-floor corridor," she said quietly.  
  
"Why did you go there anyway?" asked Ted.  
  
"We were hiding from Filch because _someone_ - " (Neve threw a glance in Roisin's direction) " - has fragile ink bottles."  
  
"Well, if _you_ had remembered the spell to clean up the mess, we wouldn't have had to hide," Roisin stepped in.  
  
Neve turned head back to Roisin and looked at her almost pityingly. "You can't always depend on me, Roisin. There will be times when I won't be near and you'll have to fend for yourself, so better start learning now." She stared at the tapestry opposite her. "Eliminate weakness, as my father always says."  
  
"And look where that's got you - you're a cold, detestable old maid," remarked Roisin calmly.  
  
Neve opened her mouth to utter an angry retort but Ted stopped her with, "Why are they hiding a three-headed dog in the third-floor corridor?" He sat down on the other sofa, opposite Neve.  
  
Neve shot him an exasperated look. "Now how would we know? We're just the ones who had a tea-party with it."  
  
"But isn't it weird," said Ted, looking from Neve to Roisin, "that this huge, horrifying, ugly monster is sitting inside a school full of kids without anyone but Dumbledore's confidants knowing about it?"  
  
Neve opened her mouth to say something but was once again prevented from doing so, this time not by Ted.  
  
"What's all this about huge, horrifying, ugly monsters?" inquired Draco Malfoy, sitting down next to Ted.  
  
"Nothing, nothing," said Neve airily, "we were just talking about you, Draco."  
  
"Oh, really?" Draco's cold eyes sparkled. "And did anyone happen to mention how devastatingly gorgeous and wealthy I happen to be? Not to mention pure-blooded?"  
  
"You're such an arsehole, Draco," said Roisin casually.  
  
"Finally someone agrees with me!" Neve threw up her hands.  
  
"Ah, Draco," Ted greeted the blond boy, "just the person we might need." Neve rolled her eyes. "Do you know why there's a three-headed dog in the third-floor corridor?"  
  
"Depends on who wants to know," Draco replied indifferently.  
  
"He doesn't know," Neve said immediately.  
  
Draco turned his head to look at her. "And how, may I ask, do you know that?"  
  
"How _would_ you know? Dumbledore doesn't include your father in his little clique of trust," Neve answered.  
  
"My father has his ways," said Draco coldly, "and so do I." He turned back to Ted. "There's obviously something in there that the dog is guarding. I knew there was some kind of a monster in there, but I don't know what it's guarding."  
  
"How did you know?" Neve asked mechanically.  
  
"That's for me to know and you to guess," said Draco giving her a sly look. "Curiosity killed the cat, remember?"  
  
Neve's eyes darkened as she remembered back to that Wednesday when she felt some sort of connection pass between Draco and herself. She hadn't felt it again ever since then ... not that she was hoping to ... but it would be good to know exactly what happened ...  
  
"What could be so valuable and dangerous that it has to be hidden in Hogwarts with a three-headed dog as security?" mused Ted. He exchanged looks with Neve and Roisin, but Draco narrowed his eyes at the floor.  
  
"You look like you know something, Draco," said Ted.  
  
Draco did not answer immediately. He chewed a little on his lower lip and slowly raised his eyes to Ted's, carefully avoiding those of the two girls.  
  
"My father told me that something big would happen this year," he said very quietly. "He wouldn't say exactly what, but he did say that it would be something that would elevate those who once held esteemed positions in certain people's eyes back into those positions." He paused for effect. "And also that it would include us, the Malfoys," he added.  
  
Neve frowned. She knew the Malfoys were involved in the Dark Arts - any Slytherin worth his or her salt knew that - but it seemed that what Draco was alluding to was something way beyond an International Dark Arts Conference. There was not all that much that would bring dabblers in the Dark Arts into esteemed positions in the Ministry of Magic's eyes, that was for sure. It would take someone with very little scruples concerning the Dark Arts to establish such a thing ...  
  
"No way ..." she breathed, her eyes fixed on Draco's face. He did not look up. She slowly shook her head from side to side. "There is absolutely no way ..."  
  
"How - how - " Ted broke out into a coughing fit as he, too, made the connection.  
  
Roisin simply stared ahead, but the noisy chattering of her teeth punctured the heavy silence that sprung up around them.  
  
"Well," said Ted after a moment, "right now we have three realistic alternatives: one, sit here and get blown up; two, stand here and get blown up; and three, jump up and down, panic for not being able to think of anything, and then get blown up. How's that for starters?"  
  
"And if nothing else works, a total pig-headed unwillingness to look facts in the face will see us through," Roisin contributed, still staring at some indiscernible spot in the tapestry opposite her.  
  
Suddenly, Draco broke into peals of laughter. The act totally transformed his face, bringing colour into his cheeks and overall making him look almost like any normal, healthy child - except for the fact that it was a bitter mirth that sparkled in his eyes.  
  
"If you've found something oh-so-very-funny about this situation, please share it with the rest of us, so we can dispell this hideous gloom that you have enveloped around us," said Neve curtly.  
  
"It's just funny how you're all pissing yourselves with fear and nothing has happened yet," he replied. "Nobody's even asked me for proof."  
  
"That's because you've got no reason to lie, you pasty son of a rotten weasel," Neve clarified.  
  
Draco shot her an amused look. "Underfed bitch of a toad."  
  
"Slimy, river-dwelling rodent with the morals of a praying mantis," Neve retorted calmly.  
  
"Oooh! I think she's got you there, buddy." Ted patted Draco on the shoulder comfortingly.  
  
"Why is it that when people insult me the first image that comes to their minds is some sort of unmannered rodent?" Draco sighed.  
  
"Well, you are blonde," explained Ted, "and your chin does look rather pointy ..." Draco shot him a venomous look. "... Under bad lighting conditions," Ted corrected himself quickly.  
  
Neve snickered loudly, but quickly stopped when she noticed that Roisin was still silently staring at the tapestry opposite her.  
  
"Hey ..." Neve waved her hand in front of Roisin's face.  
  
Roisin's hand snaked out from her lap and grabbed Neve's wrist. She turned her face to Neve's, which caused the latter to notice Roisin's wide, frightened eyes.  
  
"He's coming back ..." she whimpered, "... _he's coming back_ ..."  
  
"Shut up," Neve said tersely, jerking her wrist out of Roisin's hand. "No one's coming back."  
  
Draco stared at Neve from under his eyelashes. "Are you sure about that?" he asked her. He looked down and noticed that she was twisting her hands in her lap almost feverishly. He thought she was going to reply, but instead she stood up abruptly, causing her bag to fall to the floor.  
  
"Library," she said shortly, picked up her bag, and added, "Come on, Roisin," before billowing out of the common-room.  
  
  


**~ ~ ~**

  
  
"My father was one of - one of - _them_ ..." said Roisin hoarsely, as she and Neve walked along a corridor that was in a completely different direction to the library.  
  
Neve was mute. Every few seconds an idea, each wilder than the other, would pop into the maelstrom of her mind; the pit of her stomach felt home to what felt like a hundred top-of-the-range broomsticks.  
  
"_He_ was the one who sent my father out to his death ..." Roisin sniffed. "_Bastard_. And now he's coming back ..."  
  
Somewhere near the Gryffindor common-room Neve heard a couple of voices holding a quiet conversation which, for some unknown reason, she wanted to hear. She clapped a hand over Roisin's mouth and dragged her into the shade of a nearby alcove.  
  
"I still can't figure out what it could possibly be," said one voice that Neve had no trouble recognising as Harry Potter's.  
  
"Maybe it's a giant lump of gold? Anyone would want to have a go at stealing that," said another voice.  
  
_Probably his friend_, Neve thought, as the owner of the voice came into sight, flaming hair and all. _Richard Weasley or Roland Weasley or whatever his name is. Being a Weasley, it would explain his fixation with valuables._  
  
"Get real, Ron," said Harry.  
  
_Ah, so it was _Ron_ Weasley._  
  
"There are mountains of gold in Gringotts," Harry continued, "so why would anyone want to go for a certain single one? While you're at it you might as well go for the whole package. No, it's got to be something much more valuable and dangerous. Hagrid did say that Hogwarts is the only place that's safer than Gringotts. After all, they've got a three-headed dog guarding whatever it is."  
  
Neve bit her lip. So there was someone else who knew about Hogwarts's little secret. She cautiously peeked around the stone wall of the alcove and saw Harry take a piece of paper out of his pocket.  
  
"There have got to be more clues somewhere." He shook his head as he read what was on it. "I suppose Hagrid was planning on showing this to Dumbledore," he added, and crumpled the paper in his fist. "If only Hagrid wouldn't be so stingy about it." He made to put it back into his pocket, but he didn't notice it falling out of his relaxed fist to the stone floor as he continued walking down the corridor with Ron.  
  
When they'd rounded the corridor Neve ran up to the place where they stood and picked up the ball of paper. It was a cutting from the _Daily Prophet_. She smoothed it out and read:  
  
  


_GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST  
Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July,  
widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.  
Gringotts' goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken.  
The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.  
"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep  
your noses out if you know what's good for you,"  
said a Gringotts' spokesgoblin this afternoon._

  
  
Neve exchanged glances with Roisin, who had been reading over her shoulder. Someone had tried to steal something from Gringotts. That someone had not succeeded because the vault had been emptied. And the something that someone wanted to steal was most likely now inside Hogwarts, in a room found in the third-floor corridor, guarded by a three-headed dog ...  
  
Words kept jumping out at Neve from the cutting. _Break-in ... Gringotts ... Dark wizards ... nothing had been taken ... vault ... emptied ... keep your noses out ...  
  
_And Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, knew something about all this.  
  
Maybe he wouldn't let on to Harry Potter and company, but Neve was determined to try him herself. It wasn't beyond her to charm the people she needed.  
  
"What do you think?" Roisin asked her.  
  
"Next stop," said Neve, folding the cutting and tucking it into her bag, "Hagrid's hut."   



	11. Many Meetings

**CHAPTER ELEVEN  
_Many Meetings_  
**

"What if he doesn't tell us anything?" whined Roisin, as she and Neve strode out of the castle towards Hagrid's hut.

"He will," said Neve firmly. "If he's lax enough to tell _someone_ about it, he'll be lax enough to tell others. We'll weasel it out of him somehow."

Hagrid's small wooden house stood on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, with a crossbow and a pair of galoshes outside the door. Tufts of smoke curled from the chimney on one side of the roof; on the other was a large bronze weathervane.

Neve took a deep breath and banged her fist on the door three times. Loud barking thundered from within, followed by scratching at the door and a booming voice that made Neve and Roisin jump a foot into the air. "_Back, _Fang. _Back, I said!"_

The door opened and a gigantic smiling face, surrounded by a bushy black clumps of hair, peered around it. As soon as Hagrid saw who it was, though, the smile faded from his ruddy face to be replaced by a slight frown. He stepped into the doorway, blocking the insides of his house, and his eyes flew to the house badges on the robes of the girls causing his frown to deepen.

"Sorry. I was expectin' someone else," he mumbled.

Neve stared at him stonily. "Yes, we gathered that much. Everyone's smiles seem to disappear whenever Slytherins are around."

If possible, Hagrid's cheeks reddened even more. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that." He shuffled embarrassedly around the doorway.

"Well?" snapped Neve. "Are you going to let us in or are we going to conduct our whole conversation out here?"

"Er - yes, yes, come in." Hagrid moved away from the door and grabbed the collar of a big, black boarhound who was emitting ear-splitting barks.

"Oh! What a _gorgeous_ dog!" exclaimed Roisin, hurrying over to pat the boarhound, which proceeded to slobber all over her robes.

Neve raised both eyebrows and shuddered. "Sometimes I worry for you, Roisin." She sat down in a roughly hewn wooden chair at the table, her feet dangling a couple of inches from the floor.

"Tea?" asked Hagrid, taking a boiling kettle off the fireplace. He chuckled into his beard as he looked on at Roisin and Fang.

"Yes," said Neve. She paused for a moment then decided to add, "Please," before fidgeting on her chair in a quest for comfort.

There were four other chairs in the room. A huge bed, covered by a colourful patchwork quilt, took up half the room; several hams, pheasants and bunches of herbs hung from the ceiling. Copper pots and pans decorated the walls.

Hagrid set three mugs onto the table and poured from the copper kettle into each, filling them almost to the brim. At first Neve thought they were just going to be drinking hot water, but looking into her mug she saw chopped up tea leaves settling in the bottom. Hagrid filled a wooden bowl full of rock cakes and set it in the center of the table.

As soon as he sat down, Neve took the _Daily Prophet_ cutting from her bag and pushed it across the table towards Hagrid. "I believe you lost something," she said, staring at him intently.

Hagrid's face suddenly lost all its colour, turning from red to a pasty white in a matter of seconds. His beard began to tremble and the mug he was holding rattled on the tabletop until he let go of it. "I don't know what you mean," he managed to choke out.

Roisin had stopped playing with Fang to watch and listen. Even Fang cocked his head to one side as though, he too, was wondering what would happen.

Neve raised an eyebrow imperiously. "No?" she said. "But Hagrid," - she leaned forward - "I believe you do. And, if my ears do not play tricks, certain Gryffindors do too."

Hagrid's mug was halfway to his mouth when, all of a sudden, his eyes glazed over and the mug fell out of his hand, smashing on the floor. He didn't even notice the tea splattering his vest. "Who - who are you?" he gasped. "I've heard yer voice before ... it's like a snake, hissin' and spittin' ..." His hands twitched spasmodically.

"I don't know where you heard my voice before because we've never actually been introduced," said Neve, scowling. "My name is Neve Coulden. And that," Neve tossed her head in Roisin's direction, "is Roisin MacKeve. We didn't come here to find out if we can steal whatever it is that three-headed dog is guarding. All we want to know is what it is and who's after it. And we know that you know."

Hagrid jerked out of his stupor. "You know about Fluffy?" he asked incredulously.

"_Fluffy_!" Roisin burst out. "You called that _thing_ Fluffy? Well, I can understand Drooler, or Spike, or even just That Thing. And while you were at it you might as well have gone for acronyms. Something like B.U.M. - for Big, Ugly Monster. But, _honestly_, who would name a gigantic three-headed dog after a poodle?"

"Well, I did," shrugged Hagrid, looking distinctly chagrined.

"The _point_," Neve continued, glaring at Roisin, "is that Fluffy is guarding something very valuable and very dangerous, and we think we might have an idea as to who's after it ..." Neve paused uncomfortably. "... But we need confirmation from someone who knows for sure to proceed."

Hagrid's eyes were as round as saucers. "Proceed?"

"You know, eliminate evil, save the world, get some glory for our house." Neve shrugged. "Stuff that Gryffindors do."

"Now why do you have to go nosin' 'round other people's business, eh?" Hagrid frowned at Neve, trying his best to look angry but failing considerably.

"What can I say, we're Slytherins." Neve set her elbow on the table and propped her chin up with her fist. "Nosiness is in the job description."

Hagrid heaved a great sigh and shrugged his massive shoulders. "More'n my job's worth to keep this secret," he whispered, looking fixedly at his huge hands. "I wouldn't tell you even if I knew what it was. That's a secret kept between Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel."

Neve's elbow slid off the table. She blinked up at Hagrid, who had a combination of shock and annoyance on his face. "Why, Hagrid, how kind of you," she grinned.

Roisin clapped her hands together several times and tickled Fang's stomach.

Neve stood, swung her bag onto her shoulder and saluted Hagrid cheerfully. "You can sleep easy tonight, my friend, knowing that you've helped a restless soul." She turned to Roisin, who was rolling around on the floor with Fang again. "Come along, Roisin, we have much to attend to." And without further ado she marched out of Hagrid's hut, leaving a very stunned half-giant behind.

* * *

A month later the most awaited event on the calendar - apart from Christmas - took its toll. The smell of pumpkin continuously wafted through the castle corridors on October thirty-first in preparation for the customary Hallowe'en feast in the evening. Rumours flew around the whole school faster than light, it seemed, for everyone was gossiping about what kind of entertainment would be provided that night.

Several Hufflepuff fifth-years insisted that the Weird Sisters, a popular wizarding band, were invited over to Hogwarts for the evening; a few Ravenclaw first-years swore on their grandmothers' lives and beyond that a performance from a delegation of Egyptian ghosts was in store; a bunch of Gryffindor third-years were wishing on a couple hundred barrels of mulled mead and asserting that the entertainment would provide itself accordingly; and a handful of Slytherin seventh-years were terrorising any first-years they could reach with threats of Death Eater attacks.

All students were to drop off their school things in their dormitories after their last lesson of the day and immediately continue to the Great Hall. The last lesson of the day for Slytherin first-years was Charms, which turned out to be a lot of fun indeed, as a joint effort from Roisin and Ted caused Professor Flitwick to soar around the room and land on his knobbly head. The good-hearted professor even gave them five points apiece for their untoward success - they were supposed to be working with feathers.

Neve had been partnered with Blaise Zabini, but their attempts turned out to be a little less successful.

"Professor, I think you gave us a faulty feather," Neve had complained when, at the third try, the feather remained immobile and landlocked.

Suddenly, there was a loud explosion and Neve found herself covered in soot. Beside her, Blaise looked much the same, except her curls stuck out in odd angles around her face like a spikey black halo. The accursed feather was reduced to a tiny pile of ash.

"Not to worry! That happens very often!" Professor Flitwick had squeaked. "Just today I had a first-year Gryffindor class and the exact same thing happened to Seamus Finnigan."

As soon as the lesson had finished and both Neve and Blaise had acquired the correct wrist movements needed to make things float, the Slytherin first-years set off for their dormitories. Blaise spent an inordinately long time in the dormitory bathroom, so Neve decided to use the girls' toilets near the entrance to the dungeons to clean herself up.

As soon as she pushed open the door of the girls' toilets, someone's sobbing and sniffling filled the room. It seemed to be coming from one of the cubicles to her right.

Pushing up her sleeves, Neve turned on a tap and said loudly over the sound of the water, "Has your grandmother died then?"

"Go away!" was the answer.

"'Yes, she has,' would have been the polite answer," huffed Neve. "It's your own fault she died. You shouldn't have sworn on her life."

The sound of a cubicle being unlocked replaced the sniffling. Neve turned to see a tear-stained face, surrounded by brown bushy hair, peer around the door. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, it's you Granger," said Neve nonchalantly. "I thought you were a Ravenclaw. Why aren't you stuffing yourself with pumpkin like the rest of your Gryffindor friends?"

This made Hermione's face pucker up, and she burst into tears again. "I don't have any friends!" she wailed.

Neve raised an eyebrow. "What? A goody-good Gryffindor smarty-pants doesn't have friends? _Honestly_." She rolled her eyes. "What about those two bubbleheads, Brown and Patil?"

"That's just it, they're bubbleheads!" Hermione said, wiping her face with the palms of her hands. "I don't have anything in common with them!"

"Well ..." Neve rubbed the back of her neck. "Why don't you just be your own friend?"

"And talk to myself?" Hermione scowled. "No, thank you."

"Well, no one would think any worse of you," Neve shrugged. "After all, you _are_ a Muggle-born."

Hermione raised her head abruptly. "What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped, bristling.

Neve opened her mouth, but never got the chance to reply as the door of the bathroom opened and a foul stench, rather like dirty socks and mould, blew in like a cannonball. She and Hermione exchanged disgusted looks.

Then, a low growling reverberated off the walls as an enormous grey troll staggered in, dragging a club that was half his own size behind him.

* * *

"Where's Neve?" asked Ted of Roisin, as they grouped in front of the doors of the Great Hall with the rest of the school.

Roisin scratched her head, frowning slightly. "I don't know. She said she was going to the toilets to wash her hands, and she said not to wait, so I went on. I haven't seen her since then, though."

Ted shrugged. "She might turn up later on. If she's still not here halfway through the feast, we'll have to go look for her."

Roisin nodded, but only relaxed her forehead when they filed into the glittering cavernous Hall.

Hundreds of real black bats swooped all around the Hall and fluttered placidly over the tables, which had a grinning jack-o'-lantern planted every few metres between the golden plates. The Hall seemed to be even more golden than usual; the walls were strung with gold stars and real orange maple leaves; fairy dust was being sprinkled from the ceiling, which showed a full moon and dozens of silver stars set into an inky black sky.

It was almost perfect; almost, because Neve wasn't there to comment on it, Roisin thought.

As everyone sat down at the tables the golden platters filled with food and the jugs with different kinds of fruit and berry juices, from orange to blackcurrant. As usual, Roisin piled her plate high: first came the hillock of roast potatoes; next were several slices of roast lamb; a couple of onions and carrots were placed on the side; and the inevitable sauce was poured over the whole lot, this time apricot.

Just as she was about to stuff half of a potato into her mouth, the doors of the Great Hall burst open and Professor Quirrell came charging through the aisle. His robes were half off his shoulders, his shoelaces were untied, and his customary purple turban was in danger of flying off his head.

"_Troll!_" he shrieked. "_Troll in the dungeons!_" He ran all the way up to Dumbledore's place at the High Table. "Thought you ought to know," he gasped, and keeled over in a faint.

Roisin exchanged looks of horror with Ted and Draco, and all three promptly let out high-pitched screams. Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson immediately set themselves into swooning-mode, both frozen with identical expressions of terror on their faces.

The rest of the students were all in the same state of hysteria. Roisin saw a couple of Gryffindors shovel food into their hats with alarming speed. Several firecrackers exploded from Dumbledore's wand before quiet was finally gained.

"Prefects, lead your Houses to the dormitories immediately, and without panic," he directed. "Teachers are to follow me."

But as the teachers rose from the High Table Roisin noticed that Snape was not among those who followed Dumbledore, and he was definitely there at the start of the feast.

"Hurry up, you lot." Marcus Flint had arrived, with his Prefect girlfriend, Beth Wilkes (who, despite her reputation, was much gentler than her boyfriend), by his side. Together they hurried the Slytherins out of the Hall, through a not-very-secret passage that led into the dungeons, and pretty soon they were all inside the Slytherin common-room, enjoying the Hallowe'en feast while lounging in leather armchairs.

That is, all except for Roisin, who had long passed the stages of nail-biting and hand-wringing, and was currently up to hair-chewing. Neve had not returned and the troll was still on the loose, after all.

* * *

Meanwhile, Neve and Hermione Granger were having the times of their lives in the girls' toilets. The troll had begun to knock the sinks off the walls with his club, slowly advancing on the girls as he went.

"Why do I always manage to find myself in dangerous situations?" Neve moaned, backing as far away from the troll as she could. "I don't go looking for trouble! I am _not_ a Gryffindor!"

"Just because Gryffindors are brave doesn't mean they go looking for trouble," Hermione cried shrilly.

"Well, if Gryffindors are _so brave_," Neve retorted, "why don't you strut your stuff, Granger? We're are in grave danger of being decapitated by a troll, you know."

Hermione was panting in terror. "Slytherins are supposed to be the experts on the Dark Arts," she said. "Why don't you just zap it with some sort of Disembowelling Curse or something?"

Neve smirked grimly. "That is a magnificent idea, Granger, except for one very minor detail: _I don't have my wand!_"

"Where is it?"

"In my bag, which is the Slytherin girls' dormitory, with all the rest of my things. Who would have expected a troll to have interracial, not to mention paedophilic, tendencies?"

Hermione gave Neve a disturbed look. "Well, what are we going to do? I don't have my wand either."

Neve scowled at the troll. It emitted particularly nasty growls every time she or Hermione raised her voice, and the idea that she suddenly got from this fact might just be their only chance of escape, if the troll was distracted enough.

"Scream."

Hermione frowned at Neve. "What?"

"You heard me. Scream. As loud as you can." When Hermione made no move to obey, Neve elbowed her in the side. "_Now._"

Hermione opened her mouth and let loose a high-pitched and very obviously terrified scream.

"Excellent! Inspiring!" Neve gushed, and blew a cloud of dust into the troll's face. "Keep screaming!"

Hermione screamed again and the troll howled noisily, rubbing its face with its great fists, adding to the din inside the bathroom. It didn't even remotely resemble a bathroom anymore - more a two-thousand-year-old pile of rubble that smelled like a sewer of the same age.

The troll began to blindly swing his club in every direction, and Neve and Hermione had to duck down to avoid being hit by it. Hermione's mouth was stretched into an 'O' shape and her eyes were almost popping out of her head. She seemed frozen where she was on the floor, and Neve knew she wouldn't be getting any more help from her, so she cleared her throat in preparation to let out her own scream ...

But she never got the chance. The bathroom door was flung open and two people stumbled in whom Neve thought she'd never be glad to see.

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley stood gaping at the troll, resembling nothing more than a pair of goldfish which somehow suddenly found themselves out of water.

"The cavalry has arrived!" Neve cried.

The shout seemed to jolt Harry and Ron back to their senses. Harry grabbed a tap and threw it at the troll. He was saying something to Ron, but Neve couldn't make out what it was over the noise. Ron ran to the other side of the room, picked up a pipe and threw it at the troll's shoulder. Then Neve picked up a jagged piece of stone and lobbed it at the troll's head - it didn't even cause a scratch.

Although it didn't seem to notice the various objects being thrown at it, the noise in the bathroom was enough to make its head ring, Neve thought. And indeed, the troll began to howl again and wave its club around its head, which gave Harry time to run around it to Hermione and Neve.

"Come on, run!" he shouted to them.

"I can, but she seems to be paralysed," Neve yelled back, gesturing at Hermione, who was still staring at the troll, dumbstuck.

Then the troll lumbered towards Ron who was nearest to it and couldn't find an escape route, and what Harry did next was possibly one of the most typical Gryffindor things to do that Neve could ever think of.

He ran up behind the troll and jumped up like a spring onto its back, crawled up to its neck and fastened his arms around the fleshy folds. His wand, which had been in his hand at the time, went straight up the troll's nose. The troll began to stagger and moan and stupidly flap his hands around his face, Harry flying around his neck every time it turned abruptly.

Hermione had sunk back onto the floor, looking even more petrified than she had done before, if it was possible. Neve chewed her lip furiously, finally succeeding in making it bleed, and feeling like a proper fool for not being able to think of anything.

She saw Ron pull out his wand and hesitate, not knowing what spell to cast. She glanced at her soot-covered robes and had a light-bulb moment. "The club!" she screamed. "Use the club!"

Ron glanced at the troll's club confusedly.

"What did you do in Charm's today?" Neve bellowed.

Ron's mouth formed a small 'O', mimicking Hermione's, and then he lifted his wand, hesitating slightly, pointed it at the club, and pronounced, "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

The club lifted out of the troll's hand, as though by invisible strings, and hovered around it before suddenly dropping onto the troll's bald skull with a thud. The troll began to sway drunkenly, completely forgetting about the wand stuck in its nostril, and without warning collapsed on top of the rubble that used to be a bathroom, but not before Harry managed to jump off its back and safely land away from it.

A ringing silence fell. Harry was panting over the troll, Ron was still standing with his wand raised, looking utterly overwhelmed, and Neve was clenching and unclenching her fists, trying to stop trembling. Hermione was the first to speak.

"Is it - dead?" she whispered, still looking rather shellshocked on the floor.

"I don't think so," Harry replied, "probably just knocked out." He took his wand out of the troll's nostril and wiped it on its loincloth. "Ugh, troll bogies!"

A door slammed somewhere near them and brisk, loud fooststeps hurried towards the bathroom. Professor McGonagall skidded through the door, with Professor Snape almost bumping into her. Professor Quirrell peered around the door and as soon as he saw the troll he placed his hand on his heart and sat down on one of the toilets, or, more correctly, what remained of it.

Snape examined the troll, prodding and poking here and there, while McGonagall surveyed them all with the utmost fury. Her mouth looked so thin that it was in danger of disappearing altogether, and her eyes spat sparks.

"How dare you put yourselves at risk in such a way?" she said, her voice trembling. "Do you know how much danger you were in? What were you thinking? Or, better yet, with what?"

Neve was feeling slightly wronged. It wasn't like they had intruded into a massacre; they were just tackling an indubitably ugly, hygiene-deficient, unquestioningly stupid troll. Dragon dealers had to deal with much worse situations, and they volunteered for such an occupation.

"Such creatures are best dealt with by those who know how to handle them," McGonagall continued. "You could have died!"

"But we didn't," Neve piped up.

Snape turned his unfathomable black eyes on her and furrowed his brow. His clasped hands twitched, as though he wanted nothing more than to grasp Neve by the shoulders, shake her until her head fell off, and ask her why she had been present in such a typically Gryffindor predicament.

McGonagall raised her thin eyebrows at Neve. She opened her mouth to say something Neve didn't want to hear, when a trembling voice spoke to her right.

"Please, Professor - I can explain everything," said Hermione, clambering to her feet.

"Miss Granger!" McGonagall couldn't have looked more shocked had Lord Voldemort stood in the place of Hermione. "I truly hope so!"

"I - I went looking for the troll - because I've read about them, you see - and I - I thought I could deal with it ... because I've read about them so much ... but I couldn't ... and then Harry and Ron turned up and save me. Harry stuck his wand up the troll's nose and Ron knocked it out with its club. If they had gone to find help instead, it would have finished me off."

McGonagall seemed even more thunderstruck with this news. Ron had dropped his wand and Harry was staring wide-eyed at Hermione. Neve was trying hard not to smirk. Maybe everyone had a bit of Slytherin in them after all, even prissy little Hermione Granger, who certainly seemed to be the type of person who never even told a 'white lie'.

"Well," McGonagall began, "if that's the case, Miss Granger, I hope you realise how foolishly you acted, and that there will not be a repeat performance of such thoughtlessness. For goodness sake, how could you believe you could possibly take on a mountain troll?"

Hermione hung her head in the perfect exemplar of shame. Neve stood close enough to her to see that she was shivering and could hear her teeth chattering, and knew that even attempting to class her as a Slytherin was a lost cause - the girl was Gryffindor through and through; lying was just a demonstration of her chivalry and courage.

"What I'd like to know," Snape finally spoke up, "is why Miss Coulden decided to join you three in this ... experiment ..." He was still staring at Neve darkly, now with one eyebrow raised in challenge.

"Neve was already here when I turned up," Hermione quickly explained. "She helped Ron and Harry defeat the troll."

"I was washing my hands when this whole hullaballoo started," Neve added. "As far as I know, cleanliness is not a crime."

Neve could have sworn that Snape almost smiled. The corners of his mouth turned upward ever so slightly and his eyes warmed from a cold black to a deep, dark brown.

McGonagall sighed. "Five points will be taken off Gryffindor for your conduct, Miss Granger, and I would like you to know that I am very disappointed in you. Your housemates are finishing the Hallowe'en feast in the common-room; if you are not injured in any way, you may join them."

Hermione silently left the bathroom, still with bowed head.

"As for you three ..." McGonagall's nostrils dilated a little. "Well, I personally believe that luck was on your side, as not many first-years could defeat a grown mountain troll by themselves. Professor Dumbledore shall hear of this, of course. Five points to Gryffindor for each of you - " - she glanced at Harry and Ron - " - and -"

"Ten points to Slytherin," Snape cut across her before she could finish.

Ron's mouth fell agape and Harry frowned. Neve merely raised her head a bit higher and quirked her lips into a lopsided smirk.

It was then that Snape noticed her lip was bleeding. "Miss Coulden, you are injured!"

"I'm fine." Neve wiped her bloody lip with the sleeve of her robe. "It's only a bit of blood."

"If you're sure ..." Snape pursed his lips in concern.

"I'm _fine_," Neve repeated, "honestly, I am."

"Then you may all go to your common-rooms," instructed McGonagall, "and finish the feast there."

Neve was the first out of the bathroom. Passing a mirror that was only half broken she noticed that her hair, robes and face were layered with dust. She ran her tongue over her lips and found that the bottom one was encrusted with blood. When she turned around the corner and out of sight of the bathroom, she shook her hair and robes, and a ring of dust settled around her on the floor.

"Hey!" a voice rang out. "Hey - wait!"

She turned to see Harry hurrying over to her, a reluctant Ron hanging behind.

"Hi," said Harry brightly.

Neve raised an eyebrow insolently. "I think that after what we've just been through we ought to be past the formalities, Potter."

Harry looked down at his shoes. "Yeah, er, about that ..." He looked up and his brilliant emerald eyes sparkled. "Thanks for helping out with the troll."

Neve stared at him a moment then rolled her eyes. "Well, what did you expect me to do? Goggle at it like a landed trout and be useless? Say, that reminds me of Granger." She smirked. "Tell her that I'm very disappointed in her and that I hope there will not be a repeat performance of such incompetency on her part."

"Well, she was very scared," Ron blurted, scowling.

"But you didn't see me pissing my pants, did you?" Neve said coolly. "Anyway, I have to be off. I'm sure you two aren't devoid of hungry stomachs?" She threw the boys a parting half-amused glance before turning around and heading for the dungeons.

Ron scratched his head. "Wow. She didn't tease you about your hero status."

"And she didn't insult your family," Harry said.

They looked at each other. "Weird," they said in unison, and turned to go to their own common-room.

"Still, she got five points more than we did," Ron complained almost half-heartedly. "And she didn't really do anything."

"Well, that's Snape for you," shrugged Harry. "But we didn't see everything that happened anyway. If Hermione says she helped, she probably did."

"But Hermione lied to save our skins," Ron reminded him.

They walked in silence a while. Suddenly, a smirk broke over Harry's face. He looked at Ron. "I wonder, does Malfoy know he has competition?"


End file.
